


Dynamo

by germanbrothers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crossover, Fluff and Angst, Germancest, M/M, Quidditch, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germanbrothers/pseuds/germanbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ludwig is the Captain of the Berlin Badgers, a professional Quidditch team. And as such, he does not have time to coach random strangers who approach him in bars. Unless, of course, those strangers happen to have an extraordinary amount of talent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this came about witha drabble request on my tumblr, germanbrothers. Anon wanted an adult-Ludwig and teen-Gilbert AU where they aren't brothers, and I added the crossover aspect just for fun. There will be eventual Germancest, because that's my OTP. That is, if Ludwig doesn't throttle Gilbert first. Enjoy!

Ludwig had just finished an 8-hour practice session, and now he was relaxing in a pub, enjoying time with his team and, for once in a while, not having to think about Quidditch.

That was until someone came up to him. And spoke.

Usually when people saw him and his team together they didn’t say much unless they were in Quidditch robes and obviously accepting the attention of adoring fans. And usually when that happened, they didn’t go after the Beater.

Except when that Beater was also the team Captain.

Ludwig didn’t mind discussing strategy and logistics with those who had a certain level of intelligence, but when it came to the screaming fans and autograph-seekers he was usually in the back, relishing in his relative obscurity compared to the rest of his teammates. He wasn’t very charismatic, didn’t really have any answers to interview questions beyond his plans for his team, and didn’t do well in front of a camera. Despite this (or perhaps because of it), he had boosted his team, the Berlin Badgers, to unprecedented levels of success. In no time, it was speculated, they would make it to the World Cup for the first time.

That’s why what people thought about him or his team wasn’t even a shadow of thought in his mind, until someone spoke to him.

"I want you to teach me to play Quidditch."

He put his beer down, slowly, and he turned to look at the figure standing next to him.

Some kind of kid, with white hair and red eyes and what looked like hand-me-down clothing. The kid wasn’t even wearing robes - but yet, it was the summertime.

"Excuse me?" Ludwig said.

"I want you to teach me to play Quidditch." he repeated. His eyes were bright and determined and he stood stock-straight and unwavering.

Ludwig looked for a loss at a moment, but one his teammates fortunately came to his rescue. “Look, kid, I don’t think-"

"I wasn’t talking to you," the kid said sharply, with nothing but a passive glance at who had spoken. His gaze returned to Ludwig.

Ludwig sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t need this. “I’m preparing my team for the European Championship. I don’t have time for you," he said simply.

"That’s alright," the boy said, “I will make time for you."

The rest of the team snickered, and a sharp look from Ludwig shut them up. He then looked back to the kid. “What’s your name?"

"Gilbert."

"Do you even have a broom, Gilbert?"

"Yes. I have a Dynamo."

His Seeker scoffed from the far end of the table. “A Dynamo? That’s an East German model. They stopped making those in 1985…they would stop working in the middle of a game and just drop. A Dynamo is hardly even worth sweeping with-"

"Mine works fine!" Gilbert snapped, giving him a fierce glare before he looked back at Ludwig. “I know your training grounds. I will be there tomorrow at 6 o’clock in the morning. I want to learn." With that, he turned and left the pub.

Ludwig stared off at him for a moment then turned back to his team with a lost look. His fellow Beater, seated next to him, patted him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to do it. Practice starts at 8 tomorrow. If he’s still around, we’ll just chase him off."

Ludwig nodded, and the night continued. Despite his teammates laughter and (eventual) drunken shenanigans in the pub, Ludwig restrained himself. He could not stop thinking about that boy, with the dirty clothes and the Dynamo broom and those fierce, determined eyes. He had never seen eyes like that. How interesting.

__

It seemed strange that Ludwig would be awake at five thirty the next morning. He had slept fine, but had awoken and been unable to go back to sleep. He could always continue to try to sleep, of course, but…

Gilbert in the training field. Alone. It was a crisp, dewey morning with a hint of chill - a good day for practice.

And for lonely boys to loiter where they shouldn’t.

With a groan, Ludwig cursed how nice he was. He would feel terrible about letting some stranger wait for hours just to see him.

Strangers shouldn’t have such control over you, he told himself as he pulled his practice robes on. He’s just a boy and he’s stupid and naive, he told himself as he pulled his gloves on and headed to the door. He doesn’t even know how to play and he’s wasting your time, he told himself as he made sure his door was locked for the third time and headed out to the practice field.

Sure enough, as Ludwig arrived at 5:55am, dragging behind him the chest of Quidditch balls, he saw Gilbert there, dressed in large, dingy robes and his trusty Dynamo broomstick. It was in sad shape - the fibers were broken or bent, and he could see several cracks in the handle. The screws were rusty and the metal was bent in some places and had lost all color.

Ludwig winced at the sight. “Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, Captain!" Gilbert said enthusiastically. He was about to say something else, but Ludwig cut him off.

"I’m not your Captain. Now, net’s get started. Do you know the basics?"

"Yes."

"Do you learn quickly?"

"Yes."

"Good. I’m going to teach you two years of Quidditch in two hours. Have you ever been on a broom in the air?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"A year ago, sir. I hit a tree after being airborne for about ten minutes."

Ludwig sighed. It would be a long morning.

__

Two hours later, Ludwig sat in the locker room whilst his team around him prepared for daily practice. He was bent forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together and his chin resting upon them.

"Well good morning," His Seeker came up next to him and sat to lace up his boots. “You retired early last night. The groundskeeper said that he saw you here before anyone else."

"I was training Gilbert," Ludwig said without moving his eyes from the far wall.

His Seeker gasped and grinned, slowly crossing his shoulders. “Did you now? And how did that turn out? Did you have to mop up his remains off the lawn?"

Ludwig shrugged. “He fell off in the first five minutes and again halfway through the morning. His eyesight is terrible - he couldn’t see the Snitch unless it was five yards in front of him. His upper arm strength is dubious at best - I’ve seen an angry toddler hit a Bludger harder than he could. His broom is slow and wonky and constantly flies slightly to the left - a hungry sparrow could grab a Quaffle from him." He sighed.

The Seeker laughed. “As I thought. Anyone like that-"

"…But…" Ludwig took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. “I fired over thirty shots with him at the goal post." He slowly looked at the man next to him. “He blocked every single one of them."

The Seeker’s brow raised. “Really now?"

"Every single one. I used every angle, every position, every technique I knew, and not a single one went through. He knows how to use that broom in a small space and his reflexes are extraordinary."

"You think he could be a good Keeper?"

"No," Ludwig said. “I think he could be an amazing Keeper."

Silence between the two. Finally, Ludwig spoke again. “I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know where he lives or where he came from or how he knows about us. But he likes Quidditch, and he has some old broomstick that doesn’t work. I don’t even know if he goes to school. But I do know that he has an extraordinary amount of potential." He stood up then and grabbed his broomstick, looking back at him and motioning for his team to leave to the field.

"What did you say to him?" the Seeker asked as they walked out together.

"I told him to go home," Ludwig said. “I told him I didn’t have time to play coach to anyone but my own team. So I told him to go home and I left." Already he could feel that twang of guilt creeping in on him. Letting a kid like that go…no, letting potential like that go. That’s all it was. His raw talent.

"Well good. We don’t need distractions. We’re so close to the finals, after all."

"Well…" Ludwig looked across the field and he could have sworn he saw a white head duck behind the opposite hall to the second locker room. “I have a feeling I haven’t seen the last of him."


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with assistance and co-authorization by my gurlfrand who is an authorized Germany cosplayer/rper! Somewhere that's an official title. Follow her on Tumbler @ thecrippledmuse. Enjoy!

A week passed, and the memory of the pale haired kid faded from Ludwig's mind. He already had enough to deal with - practice, the finals very shortly, an upcoming match against Munich, interviews, keeping his house clean and free from dust bunnies (an ongoing war - Ludwig’s magic was strong, but theirs was stronger), and whatever else their manager decided to throw their way.

Early one fine, Wednesday morning, Ludwig arrived on the training field to practice by himself for at least a few hours before the team. It helped clear his head and get him in top shape before practice. In tow was the chest of Quidditch balls and his regulation broomstick, given to everyone on his team as part of some promotion for some broom maker whom Ludwig had never cared about.

However, someone else was already occupying the space. It was that kid. Gilbert. Sitting against the goal post, with his stupid Dynamo broomstick clutched tightly in his hand.

Ludwig sighed and folded his arms across his chest when he saw Gilbert. “You should not be here,” he chided. Who even allowed Gilbert inside the grounds? “And why are you even here? I told you to go home; I don’t have time to train you in Quidditch.”

“You haven’t come early any other day,” said Gilbert in response, slowly rising.

“Have you...honestly been waiting here every morning?” Ludwig asked, more than slightly disturbed by this. Dear Lord, please do not let this kid be a stalker, he thought desperately. He already had that issue one with a certain Ebony or Enoby Darkness somethingorother, and it was not one he wished to repeat.

He shrugged. “I normally hang around here. I like to see the practices and the games.”

Well, that was somewhat of a relief. Somewhat. It didn’t change the fact that there was a kid here on his practice field when there was supposed to be nobody here but himself. “Well, I’m here early today because I have things to do before my team arrives.”

“And what are those things?” Gilbert asked with a smile.

“Practicing.”

“You know it’s awfully hard to practice being a Beater when you’re by yourself.”

“Well I make do,” he replied grumpily.

“Why don’t you practice with your team?”

“I do. I just sometimes like being alone.” Ludwig was hoping, praying, he would get the hint.

“Can I practice with you?”

God damn it. A fleeting thought of letting this kid be his target flashed through his mind. “No. No you can’t.” He had already begun to crouch down and opened up the chest. The wiggling balls threatened to break free and Ludwig casually wondered if one might actually go flying and strike Gilbert between the eyes.

“So, why are you so set on that Dynamo?” he asked, trying to get Gilbert’s mind off of his practicing. Maybe if he could chit-chat for a little bit, he could satisfy Gilbert enough to chase him off.

“It, uh, it was my dad’s.”

So, a hand-me-down. Just like roughly everything else on this kid’s possession, it seemed. “Did he play?”

“No.”

Huge shocker. He didn’t know much about the Dynamo model, but from what he did know, even if you did know how to play, the broom still couldn’t fly worth a damn. But yet, he thought back to the week before, watching Gilbert take command of that broomstick and, despite its drawbacks, use it not unlike a professional.

Okay, sort of like a professional, not quite entirely. He still didn’t sit on it correctly, had a weak grasp and was still prone to falling. That day, when he blocked Ludwig’s passes he would use his entire body, and not his broom, and he didn’t seem to know how far his broom was in back or in front of him.

So, in short, he didn’t know how to use it at all.

“Well, that’s a pity. Now, I’m going to need you to get off of the field so I can practice. You’ve already cut into my time.”

“Work on your left swing,” said Gilbert. “You were a little bit weak last time against the Dukes.”

Ludwig stared at Gilbert.

Gilbert decided to keep going. “You know, the home match about three weeks ago? You swept down a bit too low and it didn’t allow you to get enough momentum to really give them your all.”

Ludwig still stared at Gilbert.

“Perhaps if you-”

“Perhaps if you stopped talking right now, actually,” Ludwig interrupted dryly. Nobody - especially not any amateur kid - critiqued Ludwig’s form or technique unless it was specifically asked for. And even then, it was taken with a grain of salt.

“...Maybe you can help me with that ‘left swing.’” he offered, “Go stand against that far goal post.”

Gilbert’s eyes brightened. “Really? I can help you?”

“Sure. We’ll start on the ground. Just, uh, just go over there, or something. By the goal post. I’ll practice my swing with you.” Ludwig released the binding on one of the Bludgers. He secured it with one hand before it could go too far, and grabbed his bat in the other hand.

The boy followed obediently, jogging over to the goal post before turning and shouting, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Ludwig said in return. “That’s perfect.” He released the Bludger and swung his club as hard as he could, sending it flying right toward Gilbert.

It took Gilbert a moment or two before he realized that there was a flying bludger coming right at him. Once he did, his red eyes grew wide and he darted off, holding his Dynamo broomstick tightly to him. “W-what are you doing??”

“Practicing my swing. I enjoy a moving target,” Ludwig replied almost casually as he dashed after Gilbert, beaming the bludger at him with every opportune moment.

This continued for a while longer. Ludwig found that he was quite enjoying Gilbert run around the Quidditch field to avoid the bludgers whizzing about. There was almost a close call, when a bludger came roughly a centimeter or so away from Gilbert’s skull. It came back at Ludwig, who beat it right back at him.

Finally the chase was interrupted with Ludwig’s teammates shouting in the distance. It took a few shouts until finally Ludwig was able to register that someone else was on the field and he immediately stopped, turning around to look at them.

“What is going on?” his second Beater shouted.

Ludwig looked over at Gilbert, who had already fallen to his knees, panting heavily from running for so long. “I was just practicing,” he explained simply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Gilbert was helping me.”

They all gave him flat looks.

“He was trying to kill me!” Gilbert shouted.

“Just...let’s get started,” the Seeker, Johann, said, shaking his head.

Ludwig turned to glance back at Gilbert and saw him already walk away, ducking to avoid a bludger as he went. His shoulders were stooped slightly and he still clung to his broomstick. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him. He didn’t exactly know what Gilbert’s intentions were, showing up every morning on the training field. Did he live nearby? Was he there out of convenience, or comfort, or or did he indeed wait for Ludwig every day, to learn how to play Quidditch?

“Hey,” he called at Gilbert, who stopped and looked at him. Ludwig was about to say something else when suddenly a bludger that he hadn’t seen came out of nowhere and collided right into his stomach. With a grunt he went down, trying to get his breath back while his team huddled around him. Gilbert pushed through them, so when Ludwig was able to focus again, all he could see was Gilbert’s wide-eyed and worried stare.

“Are you okay?” Gilbert asked quickly.

“Yeah,” Ludwig muttered. “Not the first time I’ve been...hit with a bludger. Someone grab it before it goes off again.”

Two sets of arms hooked around Ludwig’s and hefted the blonde to his feet, while the rest of the team flounced about in a disorganized flurry, trying to secure the wayward bludgers. It wasn’t until the captain had regained his footing, and ensured the bludgers were put way that Ludwig addressed Gilbert once more. “Hey, kid. Listen up.”

“Yeah?” Gilbert’s eyes brightened when Ludwig looked directly at him.

Ludwig slowly turned with his team to head back to the locker room. “Just... Stay off the training fields.” He tried to ignore the look of disappointment and loss on Gilbert’s face. “...They’re dangerous.”

“Right, of course...” Gilbert mumbled, and it took him a few minutes to finally move his feet and walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're still trying to get Ludwig from seeing Gilbert as some creepy kid to maybe someone he will want to spend time with. That doesn't involve bludgers, of course. It'll happen in the next chapter. Drama is coming soon too! Just wait for it!


	3. Chapter 3

Ludwig did not forget Gilbert so easily this time. The unusual adolescent weighed on Ludwig’s mind throughout practice - of course, not enough to distract him from the task at hand. That was first and foremost, always.

Afterwards, however, as Ludwig put up his training robes, he realized something.

He was hungry.

“Hey,” he said to his teammates. All six of them stopped and looked over at Ludwig, who was standing perfectly still against his locker, his head turned slightly.

“Let’s get food.”

Six sighs of relief. Whenever Ludwig was in a mood, sometimes he would stop and say something that nobody liked. Usually that was along the lines of ‘Those passes were weak today; we need to go back and practice at least until sundown’ or ‘Next practice will begin at 4:30 in the morning. Be there five minutes early and get ready to run a few kilometers.’ Ludwig called them ‘surprises.’ The rest of the team called it ‘hell.’

Seven figures strode towards their favorite pub. They talked and chatted with civilians on the way, shaking a few hands and even signing an autograph or two. It was a bit of a walk, as one couldn’t exactly put a Quidditch field in the middle of the city, but Ludwig enjoyed it. Sometimes they used floo powder, of course. And sometimes he made his team jog to the pub, just for a bit of extra training. It was another one of his ‘surprises.’

When they were a block away, Ludwig saw a disturbance in the street up ahead of them. A crowd had gathered between the Big Bear Pub and the National Wizarding Bank. Probably some street scuffle, Ludwig thought dully, and was about to ignore it. However, his team wasn’t quite above watching a good street fight and hurried past him to join the crowd. Feeling like a chaperone with a group of school children at the zoo, Ludwig grudgingly followed along.

Three adolescents towered above a white-haired boy clutching a busted-up broomstick-

Gilbert.

God damn it.

“What are you going to do, huh? Wave that useless broom at us? Sweep us to death?” The boys were taunting Gilbert. They had their wands out, but Gilbert did not.

“You want to see how fucking useless my broom is?” Gilbert spat. He flipped the broom so he held the base just above the fibers and the end pointed outward. In a second he took off, charging at them and brandishing his broom like it was a bat. The boys realized perhaps a second too late that Gilbert was choosing to battle without magic and preferred a more physical duel. One of them, the tallest, tried to move out of the way but too late; the end of Gilbert’s broom collided with a sickening crack against his jaw. The boy stumbled off to the side into the crowd, who pushed him back in.

“Expelliarmus!” Another boy shouted and a bolt of red fired from his wand. Gilbert dove out of the way, protecting his broom close to his body as he went down. The crowd on the other end ducked out of the way to avoid getting hit by the blast, and fortunately the only thing disarmed was a hanging plant, which fell from its holder.

Ludwig knew that this had to end. Already a few people had come forward to attempt to put a stop to the battle, but with Ludwig’s size and stature he easily strode through the crowd into the middle of the fray. The boys immediately backed off, knowing exactly who Ludwig was and that he was known for making a good career out of beating things with bats.

“We’re done here. Get out,” said Ludwig sharply.

The boys glanced at each other, hesitating, and it just took one more death glare from Ludwig before they scampered off.

Already the crowd was dispersing, content by the small show on the street, and Ludwig turned to look at Gilbert, who was slowly rising from the ground.

“I could have gotten them,” the teen mumbled as he brushed himself off.

“I didn’t do it to save your skin,” Ludwig snapped. “What the hell are you doing, starting fights in the street?”

Gilbert shrugged. “They started it.”

“You beat the kid in the jaw,” Ludwig snapped. “You could have used your broom to get away. Use a disarming spell. You could have petrified him or something. You didn’t have to beat him in the face.” He sighed heavily and looked at his team. “I’ll meet with you later.”

Why oh why was he wasting his time with this kid? He had only spent a few hours with him, tops. And yet suddenly he was making himself a part of his life and Ludwig felt invested in his well being. For some reason. He was like a stray cat, or something, and unfortunately for him Ludwig had a soft spot for cats.

The team headed off and Ludwig and Gilbert were left staring at each other. 

“Where were you going?” Ludwig asked, sighing.

“Home. Back to Berlin.”

“I’ll escort you there.”

“You don’t have to.”

“That wasn’t an invitation.” Ludwig had to make sure that he didn’t get into anymore trouble. And perhaps talk to his parents while he was at it; tell them to keep their son in check.

Slowly, Gilbert shuffled off and Ludwig followed. Together they went back to the Muggle world in perhaps the most awkward trip he could remember. Gilbert was avoiding eye contact, suddenly defensive and shut away - very different from the boy who demanded he teach him Quidditch just the week before. Ludwig wanted to say something but decided against it. He didn’t mind the silence.

They had to walk through the city because Ludwig didn’t have any Muggle money to buy a ticket for public transportation. It wasn’t so bad, though. It was a nice day and he got to see some of the city. He hadn’t really ventured into the Muggle world in a while, as his Captain duties had eaten up much of his time. But Gilbert seemed to know the city much better than he did.

They travelled to the East side of the city, a side that Ludwig hadn’t explored too well, since for most of his life it had been a part of another country. It had only been about three or four years since East and West had become one city, and the stark differences between the two were easily noticeable to any pedestrian. It didn’t help that the area that Gilbert was taking him to wasn’t exactly the best on either side.

“Um, Gilbert...”

“We’re almost there,” the teen said.

At last, they arrived at Gilbert’s home. Well. Sort of. They actually arrived at some kind of abandoned building, and Ludwig’s first thought was how many fire hazards this building was breaking every single minute of the day.

They headed into the building, up some rickety stairs, and into a large back room. The room was generally empty except for one corner, which looked very well-lived in. A well-worn sofa faced a small television. Ludwig noticed an old game system and a VHS player next to the television. Along the wall were various VHS tapes just below a variety of posters. The television, he could see, was connected to a variety of extension wires that led out of the nearby window.

There were a number of posters and pictures on the walls. Some of them were familiar to him - posters from the wizarding world of various Quidditch teams and tournaments. Others were obviously from the Muggle world. Still images from classic films that Ludwig had only heard of - Star Wars, Casablanca, Aladdin, Reservoir Dogs, and E.T. 

Stuffed in a corner were a few boxes of what looked like clothing and shoes, and a beat-up bookshelf served as a pantry for cheap food and several rows of books.

Please don’t tell me he lives here, Ludwig thought. He opened his mouth and finally choked out, “I thought you were taking me to your home.”

Gilbert just gave him a look before he rested his broomstick against the wall and flopped down on the couch. He then grabbed a book from under the cushion. “You’ve successfully escorted me home so you don’t have to stay,” he said blankly.

Ludwig sighed. He couldn’t just leave this kid to live squatting in this abandoned place. He was afraid the floor might give in at any moment. “Where are your parents?” he finally asked.

The teen said nothing, simply turned the page of his book.

Ludwig went over and sat down on the couch next to him, taking a deep breath at how deep the seat sank and how little life was in the cushions. “Gilbert.”

Red eyes flickered up to look at him. “I live here alone,” he said.

“Why?”

“Why do you live in your home? Because I do,” he said defensively with a scowl.

“Where are your parents?”

“I don’t have to tell you.”

Ludwig snatched the book from Gilbert’s hands and grabbed his arm roughly. “You approached me in a bar and demanded I teach you Quidditch. You wait every morning for me to show up at the training field. You get offended and depressed when I don’t have time for you. And suddenly, now that I give a damn about your life, you shut me out? Don’t insult me by wasting my time, Gilbert. Now talk.”

Gilbert was quiet for a moment before he sighed and closed his eyes. Then, he started to talk.

***

“...So, his dad got shot trying to go over the Berlin Wall with the broomstick.” Ludwig relayed Gilbert’s life over dinner that night to his teammates.

“Wait he tried to like, fly? Over the Wall?”

“Yeah. And he got shot, or something. Gilbert witnessed it, apparently. He said he was only eight or nine, I suppose? It happened in 1986. He said he had just enough time to grab the broom and run off before they got him, too. But after that his mother disappeared. Not surprising, of course, considering the times.”

“Wait.” Christian was their Keeper, a drafted player from Northern Ireland. “You mentioned earlier that Gilbert’s father had no idea he was a wizard? But yet he flew a broomstick over the wall. Well, almost. How is that even possible?”

“All his father knew was that he had a weird flying broomstick. Gilbert said that his father told him that he found it in a dumpster.”

Christian still looked confused. “But how can he...not know?”

Ludwig took a long drink of his beer before replying. “I guess it would make sense that you wouldn’t know,” he muttered. “After the Soviet Union overtook the East, they were afraid of the wizards and witches who could rise against them. Of course they wanted their own Soviet wizards, however that kind of power needed to be suppressed in the satellite nations. So it was outlawed. Wizarding schools and businesses were shut down and nearly the entire population either went into hiding or was bullied into assimilating into Muggle culture. You could be arrested for having your wand out.”

“Imagine it.” The Chaser, Frederick, grinned. “An entire army of angry East Germans, storming the government! ‘Avada Kedavra’ at everyone who crossed them. It would have been the stuff of legends. They would have never had to-”

“Thank you, Frederick,” said Ludwig, giving him a pointed look. He then turned back to Christian. “Some parents raised their children, never teaching them about magic. Others did it in private, and some that did rebel...well, they were silenced. Of course, Muggle-born wizards never even knew that they were different, beyond the occasional magic manipulation they do unconsciously. They never got their letter and never learned magic. Gilbert said that his father was one of those. He never knew if his mother was a witch - either she was a Muggle, or she never talked about it, or she had no idea either.”

“That’s ridiculously depressing,” Johann said with a sigh.

“Sadly, his is only one of far too many. I didn’t ask enough about him, though. I don’t know if he goes to school, or even has a wand. He clearly wanted me to leave, but I don’t necessarily blame him. I wouldn’t want people to know I’m some orphan squatter either.”

“Wait.” Christian took a drink as well. “You mentioned that his broom was an East German model. So they were obviously making brooms...”

“Of course,” Johann spoke before Ludwig could. “The government would never turn down any opportunity to bring honor and glory to East Germany. Quidditch athletes were given a kind of pardon, so long as Quidditch was their only connection to magic. They made special brooms, too, but with the limited funds and magic available, they were terrible. It brought more shame to the country than anything.”

Christian nodded slowly and leaned back, looking at Ludwig. “I see. So what are you going to do about him?”

Ludwig sighed. “I want to just forget about him. But he’s squatting in a dangerous building in perhaps the worst part of town. I can’t just... leave him.”

Frederick patted his back. “Don’t worry about him for right now. We need to focus on Quidditch. Next weekend is the National Finals, and we have a shot. If we win this, we could make it to the World Cup next year.”

Ludwig nodded slowly. “Right. Of course.” He had a feeling, however, that it wouldn’t be that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert's backstory revealed, woohoo! So, developing how the Soviet Union would have reacted to the Wizarding World within its nations has been perhaps one of the most fun things to do. I hope things make sense - and of ourse, more will be explored and explained as we go along.
> 
> By the way, this is right now set in 1993, just for reference.


	4. Chapter 4

The Berlin Badgers lost their next match against the Münster Monsters. This wouldn’t be too much of a blow for Ludwig, except for the fact that it was in the quarterfinals and if they had won, perhaps they could have made it to represent Germany in the World Cup that year, held in London.

“Don’t be upset,” Johann said to Ludwig afterwards with a sigh. They were in the locker room, his team decompressing after an 8-hour long battle in the sky. Well, at least it seemed like a battle. Ludwig couldn’t feel his arms. He sat heavily on the bench, fully dressed in civilian clothes but only with one shoe on. He didn’t want to fully hang up his robes for several months. “Last season, we didn’t even get close. Berlin was a laughing stock...honestly. Good players in Berlin left to live elsewhere so they could play for an actually decent team.” He put his hand on his captain’s shoulder. “Next year we’ll be even better.”

“I suppose you are right,” Ludwig said with a heavy sigh, slowly reaching to take another drink.

“Of course I’m right,” Johann said with a grin. “And think of this way - now you are free to worry about that homeless kid to your heart’s content.”

“W-what?” Ludwig looked up sharply, staring at his Seeker in alarm.

The man snorted and stood up, going to his locker and grabbing his bag of floo powder. “Oh come on. I’m not saying we lost because of that - you were the sharpest you’ve ever been out there today - but we’ve noticed you’ve become a lot more thoughtful ever since you went to that kid’s home two weeks ago. Staring off into space and looking concerned all the time.”

“I’d hardly call it a ‘home’...” Ludwig muttered flatly, but didn’t comment further. Maybe it was true, and maybe it wasn’t true, and it wasn’t anybody’s business but his own.

“Whatever. We can talk about it later. Now come on, I need some good beer in me. I have been on a broomstick for eight hours and I still can’t feel my balls.”  
Ludwig was always appreciative of his Seeker’s optimism. So with an enthusiastic nod, he finally finished tying his last shoe and stood up. The team gathered around the chimney that was in the facility solely for the purpose of floo powder-ing and set off to their favorite bar.

Once he had settled in his favorite corner with a pint, he watched thoughtfully as his team interacted. Christian was in the middle of sharing how he deftly blocked a pass made by the other team, which may or may not have been exaggerated slightly. Frederick, his Chaser, was surrounded by at least three women already and Johann was engaged in an awkward exchanged with someone who may or may not have been of the opposite sex - nobody was quite sure.

Max was Ludwig’s second Beater and sat down with him. His older brother was Frederick, and Ludwig knew that the two were close (sometimes, with the way they acted, he wondered how close). Usually when they went out the two stuck together and Ludwig ignored them, but he supposed that with Frederick being held up by the six breasts surrounding him, his brother didn’t have much choice.

“You performed well out there,” Max said calmly.

“Thank you, as did you. You have improved greatly this season,” Ludwig returned the compliment. After a small pause, Max spoke again: “Have you been thinking of that homeless boy who follows you?”

Ludwig rolled his eyes. It seemed to be what everybody was talking about on the team. “It has been two weeks since I saw him last. Why must everyone continue to bring it up?”

“Now that the quarter finals are over, we can get back to our personal lives,” Max smirked slowly. “As well as the lives of each other, I suppose.”

Ludwig grunted unhappily. “I suppose,” he echoed, then sighed. “I do not like the idea of some boy squatting alone in the worst end of town eating nothing but instant noodles and using an old broom to defend himself with,” he said.

“Lots of boys have worse. Even in this city. You said he was using an entire room to squat...he is lucky he has a roof over his head.”

Ludwig took a long drink. “Perhaps. I can’t...I can’t picture why he’s different.” He thought long and hard and then, all at once, it clicked. “I am the only connection he has with the magical world,” he said quietly. “Well, not me, but...the team. Quidditch. His entire life is exactly like that of a muggle’s except...the only time I have ever seen him in the magical world is at the training field. He doesn’t go to school, that I know of, and he has no magical items in his...living area...except for a few Quidditch team posters - half of them are of our team - and that damn broomstick.”

“And of course, he’s chosen to take out his desire to get into the magical world on you, by inserting himself in your life,” Max mused.

“Astute observation,” Ludwig said dryly, closing his eyes. “He has a lot of potential - I saw it that day on the training field. And yet, it’s being wasted by...picking fights on the street and trying to survive the roughest part of town.”

Max cleared his throat. “You know that he can still go to school.”

“How? He said he was seventeen. That’s the age you finish school, not start it.”

“Not for East Germans,” Max smiled. “You don’t know about the adult programs they have set up? If you are...or, were...an East German wizard who wasn’t the one percent who got their invitation to go study in Moscow, the wizarding government has started sort of...adult evening classes.”

Ludwig stared. “They have adult wizarding school?”

“It’s after the same model of adult universities that muggles have. Classes at night so you can work in the morning...there are no dormitories since many of them still have to keep their muggle jobs and families. But you learn magic. One of our fans wrote me an owl explaining about how she was in the program.” He shrugged. “Something to think about.”

Something to think about, indeed. The rest of the night went by in relative silence with Ludwig mostly supervising his team, and Max going off to make sure his brother didn’t catch anything he’d regret from one of the ladies. Eventually the pub closed and they left, going back to the inn where they had been staying for the match to sleep.

The next day were interviews and conferences, and Ludwig somehow got through them with the much-appreciated help of his teammates who were much more adept at answering unplanned questions than he was. Quidditch season, at least for them, was over for a time. In the fall they would have a chance again at the finals; at least after the World Cup was finished.

Ludwig suddenly had lots of free time. Of course he had to keep up his training regimen, keep up to date with the world of Quidditch and keep at the public relations of his team, but there were no longer days and days of training and a Quidditch match that could go on all weekend.

Ludwig hated free time. He usually tried to keep his days busy with cleaning or reorganizing his house, but there would always come a time when any lone germ would have a hard time surviving in the sterile environment. Of course he could always work out, however he had already balanced his caloric intake/outake for that day and to exert his body needlessly... Reading, magic, training, communicating with family and his teammates...he had done all of that.

Perhaps, he realized after several days of trying to keep busy, he was just trying to find an excuse not to see the kid. He wondered how he was - homeless, vulnerable, in a bad part of town, ignorant to his potential both athletically and magically.

‘You can’t just leave him like that,’ his conscious finally reasoned with him. He had been sitting on the couch, finishing up reading the daily news when it reached him and he realized that no, he could not just leave him - and also how he could help him.

So after a bit of researching and ‘asking around’, Ludwig wound up at the Consulate for Magical Education, located in the “business district” of the wizarding population in Berlin. Christian was with him that day, probably because he had about as much to do as Ludwig did.

They entered the building. It was as drab and sterile as any other office building, and Christian seemed to not like it. “You know, in Ireland, all the offices are manned by elves,” he commented.

Ludwig just gave him a look. “But they’re filthy,” he commented just before approaching the secretary, who was reading some gossip magazine whilst a quill wrote a report next to her. “Excuse me.”

She slowly lowered the magazine and looked at him. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, ah, I am interested in...adult wizarding education. For someone else. Not me.”

Another piece of parchment floated in front of her and she snatched up the quill from the middle of a word. “The student’s name?”

“Gilbert.”

She continued to look at him. “...Surname?”

Oh. Oh crap. Ludwig didn’t know his last name. “Um. Beilschmidt.”

“Isn’t that your last name?” Christian muttered. Ludwig shoved his face away for it.

“Is he a former East German?”

“Yes.”

“Address?”

Ludwig was certain that “second floor back corner of an abandoned warehouse in the bad part of Berlin” wasn’t a valid address. So he was stuck again. When the woman cleared her throat impatiently he quickly said his own address, just so they could move on.

“His age?” she asked.”

“Seventeen.”

“And his relationship to you?”

Crap. Stalker? Former stalker? ‘Might one day be a good quidditch player and rival on the field?’ “He’s my brother,” he replied quickly. Well, he already had his last name and address, why not go all the way?

She stopped writing at that and looked up at Ludwig. “So...he needs adult education, and you do not?”

“Um. He was...taken from us at birth.”

A raised eyebrow from both the secretary and Christian.

“I was sent to the West...he was sent to the East...we, uh, only just knew about each other, after reunification, and, um...”

“Test tube babies,” Christian said. “But with magic.”

“Yes! Magic...test tubes.” Ludwig was floundering.

She still stared at him.

“Soviet experiments. You know how it is. Very cruel. Anyways, is that all you need?”

She finished writing down the necessary information and nodded. “A letter will be sent to the address in three to four business days with the necessary information, if he is accepted into the institution.”

“You know,” Christian said with a smirk. “In Ireland and Great Britain, they send an owl to wherever you are. I got my owl while I was sitting on the toilet, inviting me to school.”

Now both Ludwig and the secretary were staring at Christian. “Well, sweetheart,” she said as the quill went back to writing its report. “In case you haven’t picked up a newspaper in the past while, we suddenly have to take care of several thousand people our government didn’t know existed only a few years ago. So if it bothers you that we can’t get our shit together overnight, you can go right back to Ireland.”

“Um, thank you ma’am, I appreciate it. We’ll look forward to the letter. Let’s go now Christian.” Ludwig grabbed his teammate’s shoulder and steered him out of the building before things got even more tense.

“I was just saying that-”

Ludwig sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine, Christian. I would just like to go home.”  
___

The next few days went by terrifying slow. Ludwig found ways to keep himself busy by adopting a dog and re-reading a few Quidditch training manuals, trying to refine his strategy. He kept an eye out for any letter from the Consulate of Magical Education, but after a few days he reasoned that it would come when it did, and if he got rejected, oh well. At least he tried.

Four days after the afternoon at the Consulate, Ludwig received a knock on his front door. Strange, since he either never got visitors, or they were his teammates and they simply no longer knocked.

He opened the door, half expecting some kind of person from the media or even a fan, and he was greeted with a fan.

A very familiar fan.

Gilbert stood on his doorstep, with a large, stuffed trash bag tied to the end of his Dynamo broomstick in one hand and a folded up piece of paper in the other. “Hi, Ludwig!” he said happily.

Ludwig blinked slowly. “Gilbert,” he muttered. “What are you-”

“Thank you so much for letting me live with you!” He bounded forward, past Ludwig, into the house, looking around enthusiastically. “This is the best day of my life!”

Ludwig suddenly felt his home grow a lot smaller, almost to suffocation levels. “Wait, wait, ‘move in with you’? No, I never allowed that! How did you get my address?”

“The letter.” Gilbert handed Ludwig the piece of parchment in his hand. The taller blonde took it quickly and opened it up, eyes widening at just the opening lines.

ATTENTION: Gilbert “BEILSCHMIDT” Former Surname “OSTKAISER”  
FORMER ADDRESS: Second Floor Back Corner of Abandoned Warehouse, Weserstraße, Berlin, Germany  
NEW ADDRESS: Home of Ludwig BEILSCHMIDT, 831 Hetastraße, M. Berlin, Germany

Son of a bitch. They were good.

It was a letter of acceptance into the adult magical program. With it was a map of where the classes were being held, a list of supplies, and beginning classes. Schooling would start on the fifth of September.

He lowered the letter when he finished, taking a deep breath and looking over at the young man, who had dropped the trash bag and was now exploring the ground floor of the house. “Um, you are not staying here, despite what this letter implies!” No. No, he could not house some random kid. He had only put his address down for legal matters, because he didn’t think that they would ever find said random kid in the middle of a giant city.

Gilbert slowly made his way back to Ludwig, eyes wide. “But, wasn’t it you who...you know, put me on the record?”

“Yes, but that was just a little nudge to get you going. You need to be in school during the day and using your magical abilities. I’m sure that there are places that offer public assistance where you can stay and keep out of trouble. Not squatting and collecting film posters and hanging out in training fields.”

Gilbert did not even try to hide the crushed look on his face. He gulped slowly and looked around, then looked back at him. “Oh. Um. Alright. Yeah. That’s fine...” he looked down at the letter in his hand. “Yeah, the warehouse is still...home for me, so it’s okay...”

That word ‘home’ stung Ludwig deeply. It would be a long road before Gilbert finished his education. He could of course stay in the warehouse...which was dangerous, especially if he would need to practice magic for homework, and of course travelling back and forth between the magical and muggle worlds every day would be exhausting...

He looked around his own home. It was fairly large - not too extravagant, but his salary as a professional Quidditch captain was generous - and also fairly empty. He had a dog now, of course, but he had at least two other guest rooms...

A rustling of plastic made Ludwig look over. Gilbert was readjusting things in the garbage bag. He saw a hint of a rolled up poster and realized that in that bag were all of his belongings.

Goddamn it. He was so damn pitiful without even meaning to. Annoying and kind of obnoxious and very, very brave and also tragic and pitiful.

“You can stay,” he found himself resolving out loud. It would be for the best. He could keep an eye on Gilbert, he himself would have company, and he also reasoned he could help him refine his Quidditch skills.

Gilbert looked up, still holding the handle of the broomstick. He seemed, for a moment, unsure of whether or not to believe Ludwig’s words. “You...can let me live here?”

“Yes,” Ludwig said, taking a deep breath. “Yes, you can stay. I’m going to make sure that you are...excelling in your studies-”

“And you can teach me Quidditch! Get me on a team!”

“Only if your grades are up to par,” Ludwig warned. God, he was like some kind of parent.

Gilbert dropped his bag and ran over to the Captain, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he said happily.

Ludwig awkwardly hugged him back, but when he looked down and saw the unbridled joy on Gilbert’s face, his heart melted just a little bit.

Perhaps, he reasoned, this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this one! Otakon...it was a thing that happened. Anyways things are starting to move along for our two. I'm really enjoying fleshing out the Quidditch team; they're fun to develop.


	5. Chapter 5

The first order of business was to get Gilbert settled in and on a schedule. Ludwig was determined to fix the young man right up. He would eat three proper meals per day. Go to bed at a decent hour. Wake up at a decent hour. Make sure the clothes he wore were clean and pressed, and his room was neat and orderly.

The first hour of Gilbert's unexpected arrival, Ludwig showed Gilbert to his room, left, and returned to find that Gilbert had haphazardly stacked about three boxes on top of one another so he could hang his film posters in the right spot - and of course was dangerously close to tipping over. Ludwig fortunately was able to put them up correctly and at a perfect parallel to the floor and ceiling with his wand, and that was when he finally realized what he was dealing with.

"Gilbert, do you even have a wand?" he asked when all of his things were put away in a neat and orderly manner that was acceptable to Ludwig. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the now-decorated room, and Gilbert sat next to him.

"Um, no," said the teenager with a pause. "I once lit something on fire with chopsticks, though. I still don't know how I did that."

Right. So they would have to of course get him set up with all of that. Buy him books, get him a wand, some robes - then he realized that Gilbert might not even have currency.

"Do you have money?"

Gilbert reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins. "I have three Marks," he said, grinning at him. "One of the coins is from 1923! So I hold on to it for good luck. Also I have some East German Marks - I found them in someone's jeans at a coin laundry, but I can't use those anymore."

Ludwig was sure that's the most money the boy had ever had in his life. "Right. Well, the wizard world does not use Deutsche Marks. We have our own currency," he said. He pulled out of his pocket four bronze coins and forwarded it on to the boy. "This is twenty Müller. It will get you started. For now, use it to pay for your books. I'll cover your wand and uniform."

Gilbert looked at one of the coins carefully. "Why is it called Müller? Isn't that like...the most common German surname?"

"We aren't very creative," replied Ludwig dully.

"What are the other names of the coins?" he asked. "Is one a 'Hans' and the other a 'Kemper'?" Gilbert was snickering, and Ludwig gave him a long look.

"One is called 'You're being annoying' and I believe the other is 'I'll take my money back if you keep talking'."

Gilbert huffed a bit, puffing one cheek out before looking down and running his thumb over the coins and smiling. Ludwig caught this and patted Gilbert's back. "Come on. Let's get you...acquainted with the magical world."

Ludwig stood up and watched Gilbert put his shoes on. He watched as Gilbert reached for his Dynamo broomstick, but stopped.

"Would you take that everywhere you went?" Ludwig asked. Now that he thought about it, he didn't recall seeing a time when Gilbert didn't have it. Not that he could claim to have seen Gilbert all that often, of course.

"I felt safe with it."

Probably because he knew how to beat the shit out of people with it, Ludwig reasoned. However, he did not voice this aloud and instead led them both to his fireplace and prepared the floo powder. "Do you know how to use Floo Powder?" he asked, sprinkling a palmful out of its bag and holding it out to Gilbert to show.

"Are we going to get high?" Gilbert eyed it carefully. "I didn't know drugs were legal here."

For that, Gilbert almost got a faceful of Floo Powder. However Ludwig refrained from such an act and instead grabbed Gilbert's hand, gently putting some of the silvery powder in his palm. "Go into the fire place-"

"You're fucking with me."

"Go into the fireplace and picture very clearly in your mind the pub where you first talked to me. Okay? That pub, very clearly, and say 'The Dragon's Hoard'. Then throw the powder into the fire. Okay?"

"We /are/ getting high," Gilbert said, running his thumb over the powder.

However he followed the instructions, stepping into the fireplace and was soon sucked into the Floo Network. Ludwig could only pray that he wouldn't completely mess up and find himself in Sri Lanka (it had happened before).

He followed soon afterwards, finding himself in the familiar atmosphere of his favorite pub. It was early in the day so it wasn't too busy, but already people smiled to him when he entered. Gilbert was brushing himself off not far away so it relieved Ludwig that he had made it one piece.

"Enjoy yourself?" he asked as he brushed some Floo Powder off of Gilbert's hair.

"I prefer to walk, myself," Gilbert said with a small huff. He didn't seem too sad for very long, though; just the idea of being in the magical world was exciting to Gilbert. So he happily took Ludwig's arm and ran out of the pub onto the busy street, looking around with a grin. "Oh boy, this is going to be so much fun!" he said.

The first trip was to the bookstore. Typical spell books, potion making, history of magic - all the same books that even Ludwig had bought when he was going through school. And whilst it had been much of a chore back then, he found that every book, every title that Gilbert picked up was just as exciting as a child opening a Christmas present. Gilbert's sense of wonder and awe was endless, and Ludwig found it was putting a smile on even his face.

"Ludwig!" Gilbert emerged from behind a row and held in his hands a large, leatherbound book: 'Quidditch: The Essentials'. "Can I get it? It's not on my list but...I mean it has things like strategy and history and terminology and I can learn so much!"

Ludwig was about to point out that he himself could tell Gilbert all of what was in that book, but then he realized that if he bought it, then it wouldn't be Ludwig's responsibility to actually teach it to him. "Of course you can," he agreed.

Out of the bookstore after making their purchases, then on to the potion shop to buy supplies. Another shop to get things such as parchment, quills, and other supplies.

Gilbert seemed unimpressed by the stock of writing utensils. "Why can't I just use a pen?"

"Because muggles use those. We use quills."

"Why?"

"Because."

Gilbert continued to look through the quill selection, as if he was certain there was at least one ballpoint pen hidden in the back. "Because why? I thought magic was all about being innovative and-"

"Because Hitler," interrupted Ludwig flatly, staring at Gilbert.

The teen stopped and looked at the Quidditch Captain, a sudden inquisitive look on his face. "Hitler?"

"He was a wizard. Legend says his wand itself was a ballpoint pen. Caused unspeakable destruction with it. For that, it is outlawed," Ludwig whispered dramatically.

Gilbert gasped, eyes widening. "No way."

Ludwig gasped in return. "Way."

"Woah." He looked back to the quills in his hand and then slowly made his way to the counter to pay. "Then...I'm okay with a quill."

Of course it wasn't true. Not even close to being true. But Gilbert didn't have to know that.

Last order of business was, of course, the wand. Ludwig had purposefully saved that trip for last, mostly because he was terrified that Gilbert might try to use it at some point and end up lighting something on fire. He'd have to monitor him very carefully.

Out in the streets, they ran into a familiar sight - the brothers Max and Frederick, Ludwig's second Beater and first Chaser, respectively. Frederick had just finished signing a young lady's autograph and blowing her a kiss (as was part of his charm), and Max off to the side, the large, brawny third wheel with a barely-suppressed jealous eye.

Max was thankfully spared when he caught sight of Ludwig approaching and pulled his brother away from his ten-second girlfriend to direct his attention to their captain and his companion. "Good afternoon, Captain," Max said when they got close enough.

"Ludwig! How have you been?" Frederick grinned, then saw Gilbert. "Hey! Isn't this the kid that-"

"It's a long story." Ludwig sighed heavily, but offered a small smile to his teammates. "I am out with Gilbert to get him started for school."

Max chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ah, so you discovered the adult schooling?"

"I got my letter this morning and Ludwig is letting me live with him!" Gilbert piped in cheerfully, his acceptance letter (already crinkled and ripped in some places) proudly in his hand and thrust forward for Frederick and Max to see.

"Well congratulations!" Frederick laughed. "Hey, let me take you over to the sweets shop and get you a chocolate bar." He glanced at Ludwig, who just shrugged in indifference.

The two went off, leaving Max and Ludwig alone in the street. "So, you're actually allowing him to live with you?" Max chuckled and looked at him with a raised eyebrow, a ghost of a smile on his handsome face.

"I didn't want it. I put my address down as his legal address because of the fact that, well, he didn't have an address. I thought...that you needed one. A proper one. But I suppose not, since they were able to find him in the muggle world and...well, he showed up at my doorstep with all his things. I just...I couldn't say no, and leave him out again."

Max patted Ludwig on the shoulder. "Smart move."

"I just don't...exactly know how to take care of a kid."

"There's your first mistake," Max said, his eyes drifting over to where his brother had taken Gilbert. "If he's been on his own for as long as you say he has - seven, eight years...I would be hard-pressed to call anyone who can survive on the streets that long a 'kid'. He might not seem it, but I have a feeling he is hiding a lot of maturity. Perhaps even wisdom."

Ludwig snorted. "I wouldn't go that far. He asked why wizards don't use pens and I told him the reason was Hitler was a wizard and that was his wand. He believed me."

Max laughed lightly. "Don't be too hard on him. It isn't his fault that this happened to him, and it isn't his fault that he's only just getting his chance now. Just figure out for yourself, what kind of person you want to be in his life. Parent, older brother, roommate."

"I could never even imagine parenting him," Ludwig balked. "But I will keep your words in mind."

Soon after, Frederick and Gilbert came back, both with an entire bagful of candy. "We got a little bit carried away," Frederick confessed, chewing on a taffy.

Not far off, two school-age girls caught sight of the small group and immediately flocked to Frederick."Oh my god, it's Frederick! I love you sooo much!" Frederick of course was handsome and arguably the most charismatic of the group, so it was no surprise that Quidditch-loving girls fawned over him more than the others.

Frederick grinned and was just about to reply with something no doubt smooth and potentially seductive when Max was suddenly at his side and yanked at Gilbert's arm. "Well we'll be seeing you, Ludwig. Good luck," Max said, dragging his brother away before the girls had a chance to confess their undying love.

"They are so cool," Gilbert whispered, chewing on a taffy himself. "Can we go get my wand now?"

Ludwig led him down the street to the wand shop - a small, cluttered place that Ludwig always hated venturing into, just because it seemed like nothing was organized, and it probably hadn't been renovated since it was built during the time of the Plague, and the dust mites in the shop alone could begin their own magical world if they ever became sentient.

The shopkeeper came out after a moment or two and greeted the pair. He was an older gentleman, but despite his appearance he seemed very friendly and energetic. "Can I help you?"

"I need a wand!" exclaimed Gilbert.

"Oh do you, now?" the man chuckled and offered his hand to shake. "I am Herr Vogel. I craft wands and I sell them here, I surely have one for you. I was taught by the great Gregorovitch, so my wants are of the highest quality." Gilbert shook his hand, and Mister Vogel held it for a moment, eyeing Gilbert seriously for a moment before he let go. "Let me find one for you…" He disappeared into the back and finally returned with a long, thin box. Opening it up, he pulled out a long, slightly bent, darkly-polished wand. "Try this one. Fine wood from the forests of Bavaria-"

"I don't want it," Gilbert interrupted flatly, not even touching the wand.

Ludwig eyed the wand curiously. It seemed like a standard wand. "Why not?" he asked.

"I don't want a Bavarian wand."

Herr Vogel was quiet for a moment before he slowly chuckled and put the offensive wand away, soon taking out another one. "Alright. No Bavarian wands. Let's start again."

Finding a wand took an hour. Ludwig ended up sitting on the step outside after giving Gilbert the flat fee for a wand. He, simply, just could not settle on a wand that he wanted. 'The wand will choose you,' Herr Vogel had claimed, but Gilbert wouldn't settle on whatever wand 'would choose him'. He wanted the perfect wand, whether the wand liked it or not.

Gilbert finally emerged, a boxed wand in his hand and a grin on his face. Ludwig stood and held his hand out to inspect the tool. "What did you settle on?"

"Eleven and a half inches," Gilbert recited as he passed his wand over to Ludwig to inspect. "White Pine from the Black Forest, and unicorn hair. That's so cool - I didn't even know unicorns existed."

Ludwig smiled. "That's good. That's a strong wand, indeed." He passed the wand back to Gilbert and they went off again. Gilbert the entire time inspected his wand with a broad grin on his face, running his fingers over the wood and swishing it lightly around. Ludwig had to take a hold of his wrist to prevent Gilbert from accidentally performing any kind of magic. "It is against wizarding law to perform magic outside of school until you have your degree," he explained.

With a pout, Gilbert slowly put his wand away and continued after Ludwig. There were a few more stops, robes and a trip to the bank to open up Gilbert his own bank account, and then back home.

***

The next several weeks comprised of Ludwig budgeting his funds and getting Gilbert settled in. The first few nights were difficult, with Gilbert choosing to sleep on the couch because a fresh mattress was not something his back was used to. Finally Ludwig had to just go and change the consistency of the mattress so it resembled less "plush premium mattress that magically conforms to the contours of the back and cushions target spots" and more "beat up couch cushions that contained more mite poop than actual filling" because, for some reason, it was the only thing that Gilbert could sleep to.

As time went on, however, Ludwig found that, well, having a slightly neurotic and messy roommate (if he could even call it that) was not so bad. Gilbert often disappeared for hours at a time during the day and return in the evening. At first, Ludwig did not much care what Gilbert did, as long as it was not illegal. He had Gilbert's wand boxed up and firmly put away with numerous spells on it, just because he had a sneaky feeling that Gilbert would try to do just about anything to have his wand. Ludwig, however, was not taking any chances.

When he was not fretting over Gilbert's wellbeing (which was quickly becoming a full-time job in itself) he was keeping close watch on the Quidditch regionals, then quarterfinals, then semifinals, and finally, on 22 August, just three weeks after Gilbert had come to move with him, Ludwig and his team found themselves huddled in his living room, the radio tuned to the live broadcast of the Quidditch World Cup. It was held in London, with Ireland playing Bulgaria.

"Take your bets, take your bets!" Frederick was recording the bets that night. Gilbert, Ludwig, and the rest of the team were gathered. Johann the Seeker, Ludwig and Max the Beaters, Frederick, Kurstin, and Wolfgang the Chasers - except there was no Keeper that night.

"Where is Christian?" Ludwig asked as he considered his own bet.

"He's in London right now," Johann explained. "You know how he is - Ireland is his home. He told me he wouldn't miss it for anything."

"I thought he was British?" Kurstin asked. "Northern Irish and all."

"Don't tell anyone from Northern Ireland that," Ludwig warned. "If you're not British then you're staunchly Irish and that's how it is. He's made it very clear how he feels about the Crown. Gilbert, do you want to participate?"

"Ireland wins," Gilbert said. "But I get the pot if Bulgaria catches the Snitch."

All turned their eyes to Gilbert, who sat on the ottoman, grinning.

"Well isn't someone precocious," Max said with a chuckle. "Alright, I'm in. Anyone else?"

Frederick, Kursten, and Johann offered their pots just in time for the match to begin.

The next several hours were spent around the radio, listening intently as the announcer retold every single play. Ludwig had placed his bet on Bulgaria, and frankly nobody knew who would win until the very last moment - when Viktor Krum caught the Snitch, but not in time for Ireland to take the lead. A mixture of cheers and boos erupted in the room, with Gilbert grinning from ear to ear. "I got it right! I knew I'd get it right!"

"How the hell did you know that?" Frederick asked with a scoff as he passed his pot over to the youngest of their company.

"I just had a hunch," Gilbert laughed.

The next hour was spent socializing and drinking. Most of the team was trying to get Ludwig to stop pouting over his loss - of which Ludwig had to make it abundantly clear that he was not pouting and he was most certainly not a sore loser.

All festivities were stopped at once, however, when the radio in the background halted its usual after-game review. "I interrupt," the announcer said. "Riots. Riots have been reported at the World Cup campsite. It seems Death Eaters are behind this and numerous tents and belongings are on fire. The area is being evacuated. We will bring you more updates as the scene develops."

The team stopped and stared at the radio as the chilling words penetrated the light-hearted atmosphere. "Riots?" Gilbert whispered.

"What the hell are Death Eaters?" Frederick asked urgently.

"Death Eaters are the followers of Voldemort," Johann said, as if the information just struck him. "He...he was a Dark Wizard in Britain. I had to write a report on him when I was in school. Covering dark wizards. He was interesting, I guess. But it's strange, if I recall he died...maybe ten years ago? Twelve? Something like that. No idea why his followers would be making trouble still."

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "So it's some fringe extremist group holding onto the ideals of the past and using scare tactics to try and convince the masses that somehow they're still relevant. Somehow that sounds familiar."

Gilbert scooted a bit closer to Ludwig and clutched his arm. "I hope Christian will be okay."

"He'll be fine." Ludwig patted his back. "I'm sure he's dealt with this kind of thing before. He's good at keeping out of trouble. He'll be back in a few days." He rose at that, looking at his company. "I think, however, it's time we all sleep." The radio turned off.

Frederick was clutching the bicep of his brother. "Can we stay here, please?" he asked with a pleading look. "It's dark. I'm scared. What if Death Eaters come after me?"

"I'll protect you," Max said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Ludwig sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. You all can...stay here if you want. But I don't have another guest room."

For whatever reason that was lost to Ludwig, who preferred his alone time and his space, all agreed to stay and hunker down on the couch. Frederick thanked him by agreeing to make pancakes in the morning.

Early the next morning, Ludwig awoke to a tapping on his window. Opening his eyes blearily, he almost didn't recognize the owl at his windowsill, a letter in its beak, tapping furiously at the glass.

Slowly, Ludwig rolled out of bed and stood, opening the window and taking the letter. The bird then promptly flew off before Ludwig could do anything else.

The letter was sealed with unmarked wax, and on it, in familiar hand, were the words "To the Berlin Badgers." Ludwig recognized that handwriting as Christian's, and ripped the letter open quickly to read it.

Moments later he ran down to the living room, where the remainder of his team lay sprawled out in various positions. Johann was sleeping on the couch, Frederick and Max were on the floor with Frederick's head resting on his brother's stomach, Kursten curled up on the armchair, and Wolfgang was sprawled under the coffee table. "Wake up," he said to them all. "Wake up, right now!"

Slowly, all came-to. "What's up, Lutz?" Frederick mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, yawning.

"I have a letter from Christian."

"Oh sweet...what's it say?" Frederick squinted at the clock. It was half six in the morning.

Ludwig cleared his throat and began to read:

_To my dearest Quidditch Team, the Berlin Badgers,_

_You may have heard about the riots at the Quidditch World Cup last night. I would like to let you all know that I am safe and unharmed. This is because, mainly, I was involved in these riots._

_In the seventies and early eighties I was a follow of Lord Voldemort as a Death Eater. After his fall in 1981, I left Great Britain to avoid capture and went to Germany. I learned to play Quidditch and such is how you have known me._

_The Dark Lord has returned, and because of such a turn of events, I will not be returning to Berlin. I must complete my duties here in Great Britain._

_I will return to Germany, but when I do, the power of the Dark Lord and his followers will come with me._

_Johann and Ludwig, I understand that you are muggle-borns or partial muggle-borns. I may be able to convince the Dark Lord to spare you._

_Look for the Dark Mark in the sky._

_Best Regards,_

_Christian_

Ludwig looked up after he finished reading and saw all eyes on him, very much awake and alert. "So. Christian will not be returning," he said stoically. "We now have an opening in our team for a new Keeper."

"Uh. Ludwig, with all due respect, aren't you a little bit concerned with the fact that our Keeper just confessed to being a terrorist and potentially put a hit out on you and Johann?" Frederick asked.

Ludwig's eye twitched and he folded up the letter. "I don't have time to worry about some wannabe-British Hitler and his group of Halloween skinheads," he snapped. "Terrorist or not, Christian was a damn good Keeper. Now I have to worry about the fact that, since the World Cup is over, Quidditch season begins again in two weeks and I don't have anyone to watch my goalpost. Do you understand?"

Everyone nodded grimly. Johann looked a bit more than uncomfortable still with being called out by name in Christian's letter, but said nothing.

"I can try, I can be the Keeper," came a voice from the living room door.

Ludwig turned and saw Gilbert, standing still in his pajamas. How long had he been standing there, listening? "No," Ludwig said at once. "Absolutely not."

"It could work," injected Max. "You said yourself that he blocked every single one of your passes when you two worked together that one time-"

"Nope. No way," Ludwig shook his head at once. "We will hold a tryout. I'll look through the records, find some notable players maybe about to graduate from school or some recent graduates-"

"Can I at least participate in tryouts?" Gilbert huffed, looking hurt. "I can try. I want to try."

"Let him try," Johann said.

Ludwig looked between the accusing eyes of his team and Gilbert's face - god damn it why did he have to look kind of adorable when he wanted to. "Fine," he sighed at last, closing his eyes. "You can try."

He looked back down at the letter, glaring at it as if it was the cause of all his troubles. "I'll put a word out and we'll see if we can get it this weekend. Even just a few quality players can make a difference."

"Or talented amateurs," Gilbert piped up, moving from behind him to stand in front of Ludwig with a determined look. "I'll be good," he said. "I'll show you that I'm good. I am good. I will show you."

Ludwig looked down at him thoughtfully. He didn't say it out loud, but he knew that Gilbert's words were truth. After all, Gilbert already had shown him how good he actually was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote in chapter 3 that this takes place in 1993, but I meant to write 1994, which was when this World Cup takes place. Sorry about that.
> 
> My longest chapter yet! I'm sorry about that and about the delay. I had a good time with this chapter - can you tell I'm enjoying writing the Quidditch team as much as I am Ludwig & Gilbert? In the next few chapters you'll see them get a lot closer, don't worry.
> 
> Well I hope you enjoyed! ^^ Critiques & comments are welcome; it keeps me motivated.


	6. Chapter 6

The daily newspaper arrived an hour after Christian’s letter. The incident at the World Cup, of course, was on the front page. The main photograph was of the ruined camp in the night, high above in the sky shone a huge, green skull with a snake, slithering in and out of its sockets. “How pleasant,” Max said, turning the paper over so the rest of the team could see. “They don’t pretend anything, huh?”

“Is that like their symbol?” Kurstin leaned forward and squinted, reading the caption below the photograph aloud: “The Dark Mark is cast above the Quidditch camp after the riots. All followers of the Dark Lord Voldemort have the Dark Mark branded on their arm.”

“Christian had that tattoo on his arm!” Frederick gasped. “I saw it once and I asked it what it was. He just said he got it in England shortly after he left school.” The Chaser rolled up his sleeve to reveal the same tattoo on his own arm. “I thought it looked cool so I got one too.”

The entire team turned to stare at Frederick. Slowly, Max pulled his wand out. “Ludwig, may we please borrow your kitchen?”

“Of course,” Ludwig nodded.

Max grabbed his brother’s wrist and began to pull him in the way of the kitchen. “What are we doing, Max?” Frederick called. “Do you know a tattoo-removing spell?”

“Something like that,” Max mumbled.

The team waited in mild horror as Frederick’s shrieks and cries carried from the kitchen to the living room. Max wasn’t saying much other than, “it’s not that bad” and “please stop moving your arm”.

Finally the noises stopped and, after a moment of tense silence, Max just said, “Bandages, please.”

Kurstin ran quickly to the bathroom and returned with bandages, going to the kitchen to pass them off. The team could vaguely hear Frederick’s pathetic whimpering. “I’ll never be able to play after this, my arm is ruined.”

“You’ll be fine,” Max gruffed. “There’s hardly a spot on you.”

“My career is ruined!” Frederick despaired. “I can feel my value as a player plummeting. I’ll be out on the streets within a week.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes. Typical Frederick. Overdramatic as usual.

They emerged a few minutes later with fresh bandages on Frederick’s forearm. From what Ludwig could see, there was no blood and no swelling. Seeing the nervous and expectant looks on his teammate’s faces, Max sighed. “He’s fine. He’s just being a wimp.”  
Not long after, Ludwig kicked everyone out of his home. He needed to develop a strategy on advertising the new Keeper position. It would be difficult to try and not arouse suspicion - after all, he didn’t want people to focus on why there was no Keeper, but rather the vacant position itself. Gilbert was still being insistent that he could do it, but Ludwig had his doubts - not that he didn’t think that Gilbert could be a valuable player, he knew that he had that raw talent, however Ludwig also knew that raw talent could only get someone so far.

Doing a few relays in a controlled setting was one thing in front of a goal post - it meant that he could at least move his brome and had decent hand-eye coordination. However during a game, it could get much worse.  
But, Ludwig kept to his word and promised Gilbert that he could still try out.

***

Word of Christian’s betrayal spread rapidly among the German Quidditch community. This was a problem for Ludwig, who was trying his best to advertise the vacant Keeper position before people heard about why the Keeper position was open.   
Tryouts were scheduled the week after notice of Christian’s departure from the team. Ludwig was looking for a strong, skilled player so minimal training would be required. The Hamburg Horntails - always a friendly rival - agreed to help oversee and judge tryouts.

Everyday Ludwig got new letters in the post, and the number of “I am so sorry for what has happened” far outweighed the “I am interested in trying out for the role of Keeper on your team.” Ludwig was in despair. What if nobody showed up? Who would want to take the place of a skilled Seeker who also happened to be involved with a terrorist?

Curse Christian. Curse Voldewhoever.

“How was that asshole stopped before? He said he was ‘back’. What did he go on holiday?” Ludwig mumbled one evening at the pub with his team. The tryouts were the next day, and Ludwig was jittery. So far he had only ten confirmed potential players trying out for the team.

“Uh. An Avada Kedavra curse backfired and hit him, I think,” Johann said. “I can’t recall the specifics. But it like bounced off of someone and hit him. Thought he was dead, though. Maybe he had a kid?”

“Who the hell can reverse an Unforgivable Curse?” Frederick scoffed.

“I don’t know. It was someone’s infant I think.”

Ludwig stared at him with narrowed eyes before taking a long drink. “So you’re telling me that the scourge of the United Kingdom right now is some washed up douchebag who...how many people did he even kill?”

“Uh. I don’t know. Like a handful?” Johann scratched his head

“Who only killed a handful of people-”

“Body count isn’t everything you know-”

“-Who was finally taken out by the most helpless variety of homosapien?”

“You’re drunk,” laughed Frederick. “Your rants are the best when you’re drunk.”

Ludwig glared at his Chaser. “I’m not even close to drunk. England, on the other hand...I think they’ve all had a bit too much mead to put up with this.”

Though his team tried their best to cheer him up, it would be in vain. Ludwig could only be cheered by the promise of a competent Keeper.

***

The next morning came at an agonizing pace. Gilbert for the most part kept to himself, which was odd, but for once it was welcome. Ludwig couldn’t sleep and was pouring over the stats of the players he had confirmed for the tryouts the next day, and he kept writing notes on who would be the best fit for the team. For the most part he could stack them all pretty cleanly - except Gilbert.

Because Gilbert had no stats.

Because Gilbert wasn’t a player.

He didn’t even understand what was going on. He had never felt this nervous over tryouts before. He had been through many in his Quidditch career - hell, he wasn’t even this nervous about /his own/ tryouts when he was trying to get on the Berlin team.  
He heard his ward shuffling about in the wee hours of the morning, getting ready no doubt, and soon enough he had bounded down the stairs, wearing his practice uniforms that Ludwig had loaned to him solely for the tryout, and a bright smile. Ludwig couldn’t help it; it melted his grumpy heart just a little bit.

“Are you ready?” he asked. Hehimself wasn’t; but the six cups of coffee he had consumed in the past few hours weren’t telling him that just yet.

Gilbert held his broomstick up in the air. “Yes!” He said cheerfully.

Floo Powder was used to the Quidditch pitch, where most of the team save for Max and Frederick, most of the tryout players, and the Hamburg Horntails waited. They all greeted Ludwig warmly and pulled Gilbert over to the other tryout players.

It was a muggy, dewy morning and the mist was just leaving the field, leaving the grass bright, green, and wet. Up above Ludwig hoped it would be slightly more dry.

“It calls for rain in late afternoon,” said Otto, the Hamburg captain.

“We should be done by noon or one o’clock,” the Berlin captain said. “I just hope it doesn’t come earlier.” Nobody liked to play in the rain - well, except for Kurstin, but she was kind of weird. Danish and all.

Within the next few minutes all had arrived and Ludwig assembled the potentials to size them up. All of them stood tall and proud, holding their broomstick at their side - all well-polished, the latest models -

Except Gilbert.

He stood clutching his broom with both hands to his chest, grinning and looking at the player next to him.

“Alright, players. Players-” He cleared his throat loudly and Gilbert quickly put his attention back to Ludwig. “We will begin. There will be two separate tryouts - one, against a separate team, the Hamburg Horntails. Two, alongside our team, to test how well you interact with our team. We shall do this one at a time. Otto will judge team interaction, and I shall judge the opposite team tryouts. Let us begin.”

The potentials all shuffled outside and Ludwig took them on, one at a time. Up in the air, then down on the ground. The entire time, observing and shouting orders and making plays and the entire thing was just exhausting. The other teammates weren’t as ragged down as Ludwig found himself, but also he wasn’t the one hyperfocused on every single movement of ten people and comparing them, both mentally and in writing.

Most of the players were quite competent. Most of them were either in their last year of schooling or at most a few years post-graduation, so they were young and fit. All of them (sans Gilbert) all had team experience, having played either in teams from other cities or at school. All seemed evenly matched, kept well, and interacted with the team in a fairly basic way.

Honestly, Ludwig was disappointed. He was looking for a real star. Someone who would just blow him away with their astounding Keeping abilities. But, alas, all he got were standard ‘above average’ players.

It was Gilbert’s turn. Ludwig was on the ground, his parchment and quill writing quick notes as he observed.

Gilbert was up in the air, holding a tight grip to his broom with a determined look on his face. The Hamburg Horntails took turns firing shots and passes and Ludwig judged his actions and reactions. After a few moments, he noticed something was...different about Gilbert’s playing.

“That’s a level three move,” he muttered to Frederick, who stood casually next to him with his arms crossed. 

“Is it now?” Frederick mused, nodding slowly. “Huh.”

“And look at that. His technique is much smoother. He’s not jerking the broom around and he seems much more confident on it in the air.” He was writing all these things down at the same time.

“How interesting.” his Chaser replied.

Ludwig looked over and saw the smile on his face that told him that the man was far from ignorant with these facts. “What the hell do you know?” he snapped.

Frederick laughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a cheeky grin.

His captain stared at him flatly before returning his gaze skyward, watching for another few seconds. “Have you been teaching him?”

“Well someone had to!” Frederick confessed with a scoff. “He had free time, and so did I. You weren’t doing anything to further his ability or tap his potential, so I took the initiative. Don’t get angry at me for that.”

“So that’s where he’s been going during the days,” Ludwig mumbled. “Why do you even care about him?”

“Why do you care that I care?” Frederick shot back. “Are you the only one that’s supposed to give a damn? Forgive me for reaching out to him in an area that you haven’t.”

Somehow, the blonde felt strangely offended. How dare Frederick, just go about taking Gilbert’s time without even telling Ludwig! And why didn’t Gilbert say anything to him? He had figured that they were close, right? After all, they lived together. Well, Gilbert lived with him. There was a difference.

Perhaps that difference was what was strangling his communication with the young man.

But why did Ludwig even care himself? He still could hardly figure out why he allowed Gilbert to live with him.

“I just wanted to reach out to him,” Frederick finally confessed, shrugging and following Ludwig’s gaze upwards. “Not because of his sob story or anything - you said it yourself, his life isn’t that uncommon - but...well, you know, Max and I come from one of the longest magical lines in Europe. We can trace our lineage back to...the wizards who first settled in Baltic Prussia,” he explained. “So magic has always been apart of my life. I grew up knowing I’d one day get a wand, and go to school, and nothing was ever really...new to me. I mean magic itself is wonderful and interesting but it’s just always been around. So when I saw Gilbert, who had never even held a wand before in his life, whose only connection to this world was a shoddy broomstick and a gut feeling that he was different...I don’t know. I kind of envied him.”

Ludwig stared at him flatly. “You envied Gilbert? Because of his shoddy broomstick and his sob story and his gut feeling that he was different?”

“Yes and no,” Frederick rolled his eyes. “I would never want the life he led, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But that sense of awe, and mystery, and wonder, at things that, to me, are so mundane...I dunno. I’ve never had that. In my life, magic has never really been...well, magical.”

Ludwig continued to stare at him. “That was stupidly poetic, Frederick.” It was way too early and he was way too tired to deal with this philosophical shit, and oh right, he needed to be focused on the Quidditch tryouts.

After a brief spot up in the air testing Gilbert’s interaction with the team, Ludwig was left with the decision.

In the locker room, all the scores were laid out. Gilbert had the least amount of points, which did not surprise anybody. He was even with ‘team interaction and chemistry’, mostly because everybody already knew him at least somewhat, however his abilities were just a few points shy of meeting up with everyone else’s. 

Ludwig sat on the bench in the center and stared at the pieces of parchment all around him with player statistics and points on them. He kept going back and forth between two or three - it was painful to say, but with Gilbert having the lowest scores, he couldn’t let him on the team.

“I say you pick Gilbert.” Frederick had somehow entered the locker room even though Ludwig had specifically told everyone he wanted to be left alone to make this decision.

His eye twitching in annoyance, Ludwig looked up and frowned. “I can’t. His scores are too low.”

“Just shy of everyone else, who have all had years on the pitch. Imagine what he can do with a rigorous training regimen.”

“I can’t /imagine/, Frederick. Not when I have these numbers in front of me.”

Frederick walked over and sat next to Ludwig, despite his captain’s irritated face. “Has anyone ever told you, Quidditch is like life?”

“If you get poetic on me again, Frederick-”

“Just hear me out.” Frederick pursed his lips. “I’m not vouching for him because I have a soft spot or I pity him or whatever. I’m in here because I know how you are and I’m trying to stop you from making a stupid decision.”

Again Ludwig found himself just staring at Frederick again. He vaguely wondered, if he stared at him long enough, if Frederick would somehow turn mute. There must be a spell for that. “You know how I am?”

“Numbers. Statistics. You never look at anything else.” Frederick sighed and leaned back. “Quidditch is like life. Certain kinds of people play certain roles on the field, and they play it well because of how they’ve lived their lives. Think of the Keeper, the position we’re looking at. Not the most important player on the field, but they can make or break a game, you know that. They have to guard the keep. All by themselves, up in the air, play the defense no matter what.”

“So?”

The Chaser leaned down and picked up the paper with Gilbert’s name and scores on it. “You want a good defense, and that’s the keeper, right? Then find someone who is going to be the defense on and off the pitch.”

Slowly, Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Find someone who’s lived the defense. Lived that Keeper role. Who has lived a defensive life. Look at Christian - only in retrospect do we know why he was so skilled. He lived a defensive life. Hiding from his past, keeping secrets, living his lies. And even before, when he was under...Volde...whatever. Under that guy. You’re still an underling. You are still on the defense, from the higher ups and from your enemies.”

Ludwig was following. He supposed. Maybe? He needed another coffee, is what he knew for sure.

Frederick kept talking. “Now consider Gilbert. He’s lived his entire life on the defense. Living alone, in either an oppressive society or in a radically changing one. It sucked to be homeless in the East, but it probably sucked even more to be homeless in Unified Germany - the entire country is changing and moving and there’s Gilbert, still living in a warehouse eating canned foods to get by. The only difference, I suppose, is he then had more variety of canned foods. But anyways. Every day is a struggle to survive, every day is pushing destructive, harmful things out - cold, violence, sickness, depression...you know what I’m saying, right?”

Ludwig nodded despite the fact that he knew it was an invitation to talk further.

“You say that Gilbert doesn’t have enough experience - but that’s the thing. He has more experience than any of those idiots. He’s been Keeping his whole damn life, though instead of guarding a goalpost, he’s been guarding his life.”

“It’s way too early for this poetic shit,” Ludwig mumbled.

Frederick rolled his eyes and stood up. “Look, we’re all waiting outside, but take your time. See you soon.” He then left.

Again he was left alone. Ludwig looked around the room, surrounded by his pieces of paper, and his numbers and statistics, and Frederick’s words echoing through his head.

Gilbert had scored the lowest overall, and that was troubling, especially if he wanted to take his team closer to the finals. He just didn’t have time to sit there and wait for Gilbert to catch up.

Ludwig considered this further. Of course he could teach Gilbert how to play in the meanwhile, observe how well he matured as a player and judge from there. It would be good, too - starting on a professional team and starting schooling full-time could be overwhelming and exhausting, and his performance could suffer. It seemed that the best case scenario was to leave Gilbert off the team.

But then, he thought of Frederick’s words. For as idiotic as Frederick came across, sometimes he had a gem of a thought. It was true, and it was something Ludwig had always struggled with - statistics weren’t everything. He had read enough novels to know that the abstract idea of ‘heart’ and ‘courage’ could not be empirically measured but could still drastically change a player’s performance.

‘Gilbert has been a Keeper his entire life,’ Frederick said. That was certainly the truth. It was hard to be homeless and connectionless in Berlin. It was even harder when you were a child, and on top of that he had done it through what was arguably one of the most dramatic moments in his country’s history. He knew that broom well - better than most wizards know their own wands, and perhaps that’s why it worked so well (relatively speaking...it was still a crappy broom, but from what he had seen, it had yet to fail him). Wands were semi-sentient, who was to say that broomsticks, who were made with the same kind of magic, weren’t as well?

Now he felt a hint of guilt for his own broomstick.

Ludwig considered what that would be like, to accept Gilbert as a teammate. What a story that would make to the press - the publicity would be phenomenal. To accept an amateur as a professional player! And an East German, at that. The only East Germans playing today were the ones who played throughout the sixties and seventies. Half of the Dresden Drakes were these former East German players. But a kid! A homeless kid, who lived in East Berlin. He could be a poster boy, an icon for ‘adult magic students’ everywhere. If the press continued to watch him grow, and develop, he would get sponsors and contract deals and money and anything he wanted.

He could be a star - if he proved himself.

Ludwig looked again, and again, at the statistics. His gut was telling him, regardless of scores, that Gilbert was the one. But these other players had certainly proved their worth.

After another agonizing forty five minutes, Ludwig emerged from the locker room. The prospects, the Badgers, and the Horntails were all still in attendance, waiting eagerly. Frederick stood next to Gilbert, who watched wide-eyed with his broom clutched close to him. The rest of the potentials all leaned forward.

It was deathly silent.

“Did you make a decision?” Kurstin asked quietly.

Ludwig nodded slowly. He eyed all the players. “Our new Keeper shall be Mathias Klein, of Hannover. Congratulations, Mathias. You were our top-performing player and I look forward to inducting you to into the team. Welcome.” He looked around at the rest of the potentials, doing his best not to linger on Gilbert for too long - but it was hard not to notice how his shoulders drooped and the hurt in his eyes. “Thank you all for coming out this morning. It was a very difficult decision. Feel free to...return in future seasons if positions open.”

The remainders toddled off. Mathias remained, obviously ecstatic. Ludwig knew that he would be good. He was young, having just graduated from school and played on the Quidditch team for two years. He had a good, solid broomstick and was light on the stick and showed a great command of the goalpost. Ludwig’s mind was at ease.

Until he saw Gilbert. The poor boy had remained, of course, since Ludwig was his ride home, and while the rest of the team introduced themselves to Mathias, he approached the teen. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly, putting a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. God /damn/ why was it so hard to see Gilbert disappointed? “It was hard, it really was.”

Gilbert just nodded slowly and did his best to smile. “No, it’s fine...I mean they all had years on me. I talked to some of them after and, y’know, I just knew that there was no way. But thanks for...letting me try.”

Ludwig gulped harshly. This was hard. “Look, you don’t have to keep going to Frederick to learn to play Quidditch. I can teach you, on weekends and in the evenings and whatnot. In a few years, with a really good foundation? You’ll be an amazing player.”  
“Right. Yeah! That’ll be great.”

“And, uh.” God, as if that wasn’t enough in Ludwig’s eyes. “I’m sorry I haven’t been...spending time with you. I mean now you live with me and I still hardly know you and…”

“It’s fine, I figured you have been busy and stuff.” Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck. “Also you’re intimidating when you’re mad so I just thought it best to leave you alone.”

Damn it, that was the opposite reaction he wanted to send across to the kid. “Well I’ll make more of an effort. You like...films, right? You have all those posters. Why don’t we go and see a film or something? Just you and me, and whatever one you want to go see in the cinema.”

Gilbert’s eyes brightened instantly. “Really? We’ll go, together, to see a film? Can we see The Lion King? I’ve wanted to see it for months and it looks so good and I’m really excited that you want to see it with me!”

“Of course, yeah, we’ll see it.” Whatever the hell that was. “I’m going to go and, uh, talk to Mathias about the team. It won’t be long, I promise.” Ludwig patted Gilbert’s shoulder and went off. Mathias was currently engaged in conversation with Max about things, and so he settled next to Johann, waiting for a chance to interject.

Johann simply smiled, glancing over at him. “You, ah...you don’t know much about muggle culture, do you?”

Ludwig shrugged. “I left it when I was ten, haven’t really put myself back. Why?” Ludwig was reminded that Johann was the only pure muggle-born in the team. The first wizard born on either side of his family since as far back as they could trace.  
“I overheard your conversation with Gilbert. Forgive me.” He placed his hand on Ludwig’s shoulder and smirked. “Two individuals going to see a film together? Very common for a first date.”

“Oh. Huh.” Ludwig was focused on realizing that Mathias liked to talk a mile a minute and he wasn’t sure if he liked that - 

He stopped when that last word sunk into his head and he looked at Johann quickly. “Wait, what?”

Johann simply laughed and patted his arm, going forward to take his turn talking to Mathias, leaving Ludwig behind to stand there alone, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, please nobody be mad! We're not done yet. The Lion King awaits! I enjoy the characters of Max and Frederick (and maybe I ship Gilbert/Frederick nooo) and I'm working to give the other players a voice uwu
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay! Next chapter is date night...or is it? Oh, Ludwig...you're too awkward for your own good. (it's adorable)


	7. Chapter 7

“This cannot be it.”

“The address is right, isn’t it?”

“But this is-”

“This is so cool.”

It was the first day of school. Gilbert was running on two hours of sleep and more caffeine than the entire Berlin Badgers combined during a morning practice session, but Ludwig had allowed it. This was like Christmas, for Gilbert, and Ludwig knew that. His own vague excitement that he had felt when he was ten years old was creeping back to him - he knew that Gilbert’s feelings, however, must be magnified given the fact that his letter was roughly 7 years overdue.

However, this was not how Ludwig had anticipated the morning to start. The two of them had left early enough, after ensuring that Gilbert had all of his supplies. It was a small battle to get him to keep the Dynamo at home, however by mentioning that he wouldn’t be able to perform advanced spells and hexes and turn people into frogs holding his broom, the Dynamo remained in the room.

Ludwig followed the directions to the building where Gilbert’s classes were supposedly held. The building had no name, or at least none was written on the paper - simply walking directions on how to get to it from the center of magical Berlin.

The directions (which Ludwig knew he followed exactly as written) led out of the magical district and into the muggle world. Gilbert followed him along cheerfully, occasionally pointing out a shop that he had bought something from, or a cafe that he frequented. Following a whimsical path along the river through Berlin and down some main streets - Ludwig looked only more confused the further as they went along.

At last, after forty five minutes of walking, they had arrived at their destination.

Ludwig stared straight ahead, dumbfounded.

The directions had led them straight to Charlottenburg Palace. Home of Prussian Kings and Queens.

“I used to love going to the gardens,” Gilbert said excitedly. “I had no idea that there was a magic school here!”

“There isn’t,” Ludwig snapped, suddenly irritated. How could there be a magic school in Charlottenburg? It was completely empty, only open to the public for tours. Hell, the rooms hardly had any furniture in them!

Ludwig was poring over the directions again while Gilbert simply walked into the main entrance and, through the obnoxious gift shop and to the main hall where he spoke to an attendant. Ludwig realized too late that his ward was gone and quickly ran after him just as Gilbert showed a staff member his letter of admissions.  
“...I got accepted into wizarding school and I need-”

Ludwig managed to run up behind Gilbert and clap a hand over his mouth whilst simultaneously pulling Gilbert’s letter-wielding hand away from the attendant. “Sorry for having him bother you, he’s a bit, uh, imaginative.” Lord, he didn’t need Gilbert running to any random person telling them he had gotten into wizarding school. He didn’t need those kinds of stares and gossip.

The woman looked at the two of them and then offered Ludwig a sympathetic smile. She leaned in to both of them and whispered, “Please, come with me.”

Gilbert grinned broadly and followed along happily. Ludwig hung back for a moment, suspicious, hoping that this woman wasn’t going to lead them to some holding cell for rowdy tourists, but he realized that he couldn’t just let Gilbert go off unaccompanied with a stranger. “Damn it,” he whispered angrily and stormed off after them.

The attendant passed them off to another woman not far off, who took them into a cleverly-hidden office. It looked normal enough - desk, papers, portable radios, small television - but when she tilted a framed photo on the wall, it suddenly disappeared which led to a dark, descending staircase.

Ludwig had to reach out and gently lift up Gilbert’s hung-open jaw, chuckling. “Are you surprised of such a thing?”

“I mean, I never…”

“Come with me,” the attendant said, and led them down the staircase. “You’re just on time; it’s a bit of a smaller group this year. Are you both taking classes?”

Ludwig was following diligently, paying attention to how old the corridor appeared. “Just him,” he said absently. “I had no idea that there was...something beneath this palace. Is it...new?”

“Oh no,” the attendant explained. “These chambers were built by King Frederick William as part of his education reforms - he demanded that all of his citizens receive a proper education, and that meant a proper education for his magical citizens, as well.”

“I didn’t know that he knew about magic,” Ludwig mused.

“Oh, all Hohenzollerns are magical,” she said with a smile. “Except for-”

“Frederick the Great!” Gilbert piped up with a grin, looking between them. “He wasn’t magical, was he? That’s what I read in the library.”

The attendant smiled and nodded at him. “Yes, indeed, you’re right. You’ll do wonderfully in school if you already know this much.”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow at Gilbert, who just beamed at him, impressed with his own historical knowledge. “That’s why Frederick William didn’t like him, you know. His crowned prince wouldn’t be able to carry on the magical line! It was so tragic. It’s also speculated that’s why Frederick II never had children, so that the magic could be preserved.”

“I thought it was because he was gay,” Ludwig said flatly.

“Well we can’t ever know for certain,” the attendant said. The stairs ended and it led to a long, wide corridor. Red velvet carpeting was at their feet, and at either side were numerous doors and windows with bright light streaming through them. On either wall were enchanted portraits of the kings and queens of Prussia and Germany, smiling and waving, or perhaps looking very grouchy. 

Gilbert peered out of the closest window. “I thought we were underground?” he asked. “Why is there sunlight and a sky and...are those the gardens?”

“All magic, dear,” the woman said. “We need these halls bright and cheery for our learners.” They went down the hall and through a large door, which led into a large, incredibly modern-looking room - a stark contrast from the old stone from outside. The walls were plaster and painted with white, and it was filled with very modern furniture and decorations.

Within the room was a group of about thirty to thirty five people. They were all people like Gilbert - confused, enthusiastic, open minded, and unaware of their magical potential. It made Ludwig smile. But only a little bit.

Several people looked over at the newcomers and took note of Ludwig. The Beater only realized that something wasn’t quite normal when he saw eyes directly on him. “I should probably go. Will you be alright?” Ludwig asked.

Gilbert smiled and nodded. “Yes. I’ll be fine.”

Ludwig left not long afterwards. Sometimes he forgot that he was some kind of pseudo-celebrity and that people recognized him and even wanted to talk with him. Ugh. He gave one last glance over his shoulder as he watched Gilbert walk over and immediately sit next to someone to start speaking with them. ‘He’ll be alright,’ Ludwig told himself. Gilbert seemed much better at this whole socializing thing than he was.

When he turned back into the hallway, he found Frederick William staring back at him judgingly from his portrait. Ludwig stared back. “What the hell are you looking at?”

The monarch simply crossed his arms over his chest and Ludwig mimicked the move.

“Don’t look at me like that. You don’t know anything. Don’t make me...come back here with some ink. I will draw rabbit ears on your head,” he said simply before turning down the hall to leave.

He immediately went to the practice pitch, where Max was again taking charge in his absence. It frustrated Ludwig that he had missed the beginnings of more practices these past several months than he had his entire Quidditch career before, but he always reasoned that Gilbert’s cause was a good enough excuse. It wasn’t like it was every day, after all, and Max made an excellent substitute coach. He’d run a team one day, Ludwig was sure of that.

...But until then, of course, Ludwig’s team was his and it was his to run.

Most of the morning practice was working with Mathias and getting him to observe and respond seamlessly with the team. He had been on the team for about two weeks, and the coming Friday would be their first match of the new season - against the Soltau Serpents. A small town, mainly known for its amusement park (which coincidentally happened to be its biggest sponsor), but Ludwig figured that he supposed that’s all anybody needed nowadays to get a team together. He wasn’t worried; the Serpents hadn’t been any threat in a long time - but then again, neither had Berlin until very recently.

Nonetheless, Ludwig was extraordinarily pleased with Mathias’s progress. He learned quickly, took direction well, and his enthusiasm almost overshadowed the rest of the team. For the first time in a very, very long time, Ludwig was actually pleased with his team, and he was actually looking forward to the coming season.

**

Ludwig was outside of Charlottenburg at precisely 5 o’clock when Gilbert was supposed to be released from school. Just like picking up a family member from grammar school every day. Maybe he’d tell Gilbert that from now on, he’d do it himself. Ludwig glanced around while he waited, wondering if he could Apparate near the grounds. That would be a lot easier, wouldn’t it?

Finally people who weren’t tourists or staff seemed to be trickling out. A couple speaking Russian wandered out, almost looking dazed and lost, while holding a piece of parchment paper that looked exactly like the kind that wizards used. A few more people, and then Gilbert bounded into view, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear, hastily folded and gathered parchments in one hand and clutching his wand like a drumstick in the other. “Ludwig!” he said happily. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Of course,” said Ludwig. This place can be, uh, dangerous when the sun starts to go down. Anyways, how was your first day?”

“Great!” Gilbert said. “I learned so much, but we didn’t even get to practice any magic. Just things like...class expectations, schedules, policies...it was all boring. The last lecture was on theories of magic and I mean it was interesting but...when can I start turning things into frogs?”

Ludwig chuckled and ruffled his hair, turning to leave and expecting Gilbert to follow suit. “You probably won’t for a while. Especially your group, who has very little experience with magic - you’re going to learn everything there is to know about performing magic before you do it. Other children have grown up exposed to it their entire lives and only learn the fundamentals after they have seen it in action. Think of it as...learning a language.”

“I hate learning languages,” Gilbert replied flatly. “They tried to teach us Russian in primary school and I hated it.”

“Well fortunately, magic is a hell of a lot more interesting than Russian.” Ludwig countered. “But anyways. I am glad that you had a good time. I was thinking, if you would like, as a celebration of...your beginning magic school, we can go see that film that you wanted to see. We’re already out, so we can just go to the cinema.”  
He watched as Gilbert’s eyes widened and lit up like a Christmas tree. “What? Really? You’ll go see The Lion King with me??”

“Sure.” He paused then. “I do not have any muggle money on me, though-”

“I do!” His ward jumped around excitedly, already digging deep into his pockets. “I do, I do! I have enough for two tickets!”

Together they flurried back to the house. Ludwig thought for a moment that his charge had somehow reverted back to that of a ten year old - magic and cinema, all in one day. That’s all it took for Gilbert, apparently. After waiting for Gilbert to put his things away and collect the money, they were off. Gilbert had kept his Deutschmarks safe in a steel lock box that looked almost as beat up as his Dynamo broomstick. Dents, dirt, scrapes, and rusted hinges decorated the steel and an old padlock accented the lid. “This is where I kept all of my money,” he said proudly. “Never once had anything stolen from me.”

Ludwig made a mental reminder to buy him a wallet. Perhaps for his birthday. When was he born? He realized he didn’t even know - maybe it had already passed and Gilbert just didn’t say anything (though it didn’t seem like him to let something like his birthday slip by unannounced). Well he supposed he’d find out this evening, maybe talk to him after the movie or some such nonsense. Maybe go for a walk or go to dinner or -

“This isn’t a date, I’ll have you know,” Ludwig said quickly.

Gilbert was counting up his cash and stopped abruptly, staring at him. “Well...I’ll have you know, I am paying for you.” He flashed a cheeky grin and then pulled out the proper amount of money to shove in his pocket.

The Quidditch Captain didn’t know quite how to respond to that, so he didn’t at all. Instead he led Gilbert back out the door, with the teenager yapping on excitedly about various facts and trivia of the film that he had yet to see but had heard of from magazines and television and posters.

“...And James Earl Jones is the English voice of Mufasa, who is Simba’s father, the king, so cool, love his voice work, and the name Simba is actually Swahili for ‘Lion’ - I know, creative right? But I also heard that there was a scene in there, like a quick scene, that took over three years to do with computer animation, that’s just - wow. Wow. I can’t wait to see it. Anyways, did you know that-”

“Oh look, were at the cinema,” Ludwig said abruptly when they arrived finally. It wasn’t that Ludwig disliked hearing Gilbert talk, it was just that he had the habit of talking in excess, and after a while it was difficult for him to keep up. “Go ahead and pay for the tickets.”

The next show was starting in thirty minutes, so the two killed time by buying ice cream nearby with the remainder of Gilbert’s money. It was also the first time in a while that Ludwig had eaten ice cream - he preferred hot treats, like cake and hot cocoa. But as he sat back outside and enjoyed some good ice cream while Gilbert yapped on and on about magic, and his day, and then fell very quiet, just watching the people go by while he ate his ice cream.

Ludwig almost didn’t notice the silence at first, but when he did, he looked over at Gilbert. “Did you used to come here often?”

“Yeah,” Gilbert smiled. “All the time. It was fun to people-watch. Some days, I had hours and hours of time on my hands. So when the weather was nice, I’d come here.”

“Must be a drawback of not having to go to school or work during the day, huh?”

He laughed a bit. “When you’re homeless, boredom is the worst. When you’re hungry or looking for shelter, it gives you something to do, something to aim for, to hope for. I had days like that. Didn’t know where my next meal would come from, didn’t know where I’d sleep that night. But when I got things figured out more or less, when I had at least enough food to last me for a day or so, it’s hard to find things to do. Some turn to drugs to pass the time, but that’s why I got into films so much, especially after the Wall came down and I could watch all the films from the West. It was pretty cheap and it ate up many hours of your time, and took your mind off of things...you know? For a few hours I had a roof over my head, I had heat in the winter, and I was with families and couples, some who were richer than others, but for those few hours in that cinema…” He shrugged. “We were all in the same place, experiencing the same story. I liked that.”

Ludwig pondered his words for a few moments, taking the last few bites of his ice cream. Gilbert could be surprisingly...well, surprisingly mature when he wanted to be. “Shall we head on? The film will start soon.”

Gilbert finished his and they went off together, with the exuberant light returning to his eyes as he practically skipped back to the cinema. They arrived with five minutes to spare and found seats. The film had been out since June, four months prior, however the cinema was still about halfway full. Once through the previews and picture started, Gilbert immediately gasped, grinning and clutching Ludwig’s wrist on the armrest, his eyes as red and bright the animated sunrise they were viewing.

Ludwig glanced down at him and offered a small smile. ‘Movie magic’, he had heard the phrase before. He wondered if that had anything to do with the look of sheer, unbridled joy on Gilbert’s face.

When the film got out it was dark, and somehow, with Gilbert yapping again about how amazing and flawless and what a masterpiece The Lion King was, they wound up sitting together on the rooftop of Ludwig’s home. It was a quiet, warm night, and neither wizard was keen on staying in until bedtime. Their legs hung over the edge, with Ludwig sitting straight and tall as ever and Gilbert relaxed back, his weight rested in his palms.

“...But enough about what I think about it,” Gilbert laughed, looking over at Ludwig. His smile was bright as ever, and had yet to falter in the slightest since the film began. “What did you think of it?”

“Very good,” Ludwig nodded. “I was very impressed. I have not seen any kind of film that weren’t Quidditch matches in a very long time.”

“Who’s your favorite character?”

The Beater took pause at that. “I believe I was Zazu in a past life, honestly. And who was yours?

Gilbert laughed at his response before pausing and looking up at the stars while he thought. “I relate to Simba myself,” he said. “But I would have to say Mufasa.”  
“Why so?”

Again the younger was quiet for a moment, his smile lessening ever so slightly. “Mufasa reminds me of my father a lot. Brave and strong...a great leader...and I think above all...he loved me very much, and he died to keep me save, so I might live a better life.” Gilbert turned to look at him. “He was a good man, and he would have been a good wizard.”

“Be sure to make him proud, then,” Ludwig said, reaching out to pat his back before leaning forward a bit. “Tell me, Gilbert, how did you find the bridge between the muggle world and the magical world? Did anybody approach you, or send you any kind of letter?”

Gilbert smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “No,” he said. “It was on November 9th, 1989. A thursday.”

“You remember the day?”

“I will never forget.” Gilbert chuckled a little bit and glanced out onto the city. “I was protesting with the people, I had been for a few days. Remember when I talked about boredom? Well a good thing to do with yourself when there’s nothing to do is protest. It was wonderful. Everyone was there, and...the energy that night was something I couldn’t put into words. We were angry, and we were excited, and we knew that something was going to happen, and it was going to happen soon, and it was cold, but we were all cold and we were all so tired and poor and when a woman saw that I was alone and didn’t have any gloves she went and she got me a cup of hot soup and gave me a pair of her son’s gloves who wasn’t there, and I still have them to this day, and that was just the nicest thing that anyone had ever done for me, she said that she’d watch over me that night, and it was getting late and we were getting loud and I could feel it, I could just feel it in my bones and-” he stopped and took a deep breath to stop himself, probably taking note that Ludwig was staring rather pointedly at him.

“Anyways. So the checkpoint was breached and everyone flooded to the other side, and it was great! For the first time in my life I was in the West, in the other side, and it was great.” He exhaled loudly.

“Did you have your broomstick with you?” Ludwig asked.

“Of course! I had to...for my dad. I had to. For him.” He laughed. “So I walked and I ran around and I danced with someone and someone else kissed me and it was such a great night! Someone handed me flowers and I gave them to someone else and after a while I just got so exhausted. So I found a quiet spot on the wall and I fell asleep. 

“When I woke up the next day, people had already started tearing the wall down. I saw these two kids, by themselves, nobody really nearby, who were pulling chunks of the wall out by levitation. I couldn’t believe my eyes. They had sticks in their hands - wands, duh, but to me they just looked like sticks - and they were pulling them off the wall and letting the pieces float to the ground. I was astonished. I had never seen anything like that before outside of films! So I hid and watched them. 

“After a bit they took the pieces they wanted and they ran off, and I followed them! They were obviously from the West and they went all through the city and through a tiny bookshop, where in the back was a passageway to the magical world. It was behind a bookshelf. You moved one of the books and it opened. So I did the same, and it worked. I thought I was in some kind of conspiracy movie. Discovering the Illuminati or something.” Gilbert laughed.

Ludwig followed along in his story, moving closer to him a little bit. “You know that would have not worked on a muggle. It would not have budged.”

“I know that now. At the time, I had no idea what I was walking into. But I was in an entirely separate world! Everyone there was celebrating too, but it was so different. They wore cloaks and spoke with different dialects and I saw in the shops strange things and...I don’t know. I didn’t know what was going on or where I was but I felt so...calm. At ease. You know? I had found it. I had found the cure to that funny feeling I had felt my entire life. The feeling that said that I didn’t quite belong where I was. Here I was, on what seemed like a different planet, and it just felt good.” Gilbert smiled at him, his story complete.

His sole audience member reached out and ruffled his hair, chuckling. “Quite the incredible tale, if I say so myself,” he said. “You’ve lived an interesting life.”

“It’s about to get even moreso, wouldn’t you say?”

They looked at each other for a moment and Ludwig didn’t say anything, so Gilbert spoke again, flashing his characteristic smile.

“I’ve always believed in magic. Even before I really...knew that people could manipulate it.”

“Have you now? Grew up on fantasy novels of elves and dragons?”

“Not really.” Gilbert pursed his lips, looking over at him with a smirk. “You’re still an enigma to me, Ludwig. You never talk about your beginnings.” When Ludwig did not reply, Gilbert continued going. “I’ve always believed that magic...is all around us. In everything. It is what created life on this planet, what keeps our feet on the ground and keeps hope in our hearts.” He got to his feet and spun around on the roof. “Magic put Cosmonauts in space and on the moon!”

“That would be technology,” Ludwig corrected.

Gilbert laughed. “Who is to say they are not different? Biology, technology, creativity, psychology, philosophy - this is all magic, I think. Finding a good parking space at Christmastime, that’s magic. The kindness of strangers, that’s magic. The human body adapting to cold by raising its own internal temperature, that’s magic. An egg and a sperm fusing to create life, that’s magic. Cosmonauts on the moon, that’s magic. Being able to understand organized sounds and squiggles and calling it language, that’s magic. The collective unconscious of a population causing great, wonderful change and setting history in motion, that’s magic!” With a laugh, he sat down again next to Ludwig, looking at him. 

The different look in Gilbert’s eyes, that was magic, Ludwig thought.

“Magic is that gut feeling inside, knowing that you’re in a good place. Looking at someone and feeling at ease, feeling like you’re home. That is also magic.”

Ludwig watched him for a long time before speaking “And what is that spell called?”

Shrugging, Gilbert cocked a shoulder as he put his weight on one palm on the ground. “Love. Family. Friendship.”

A half-smile graced Ludwig’s face and he reached out, shaking Gilbert’s hair. He thought for a moment of Max’s words, weeks and weeks ago when he was shopping for Gilbert’s school supplies. That Gilbert might seem reckless, immature, emotionally stunted, clingy and overly talkative, but deep down he wasn’t a dumb kid. That he held a surprising amount of intelligence. ‘Perhaps even wisdom’, Max had said.

Perhaps indeed, Ludwig thought silently. The wisdom of Gilbert, that was certainly magic, if nothing else was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took some historical liberties with this one, describing Charlottenburg & the Hohenzollerns... Charlottenburg was the Palace in Berlin where Prussian kings and queens resided, as mentioned. If you all are ever in Berlin definitely take a peek, it's gorgeous and the gardens are very peaceful. I don't know if there's a secret magical part underneath but the rest of it is quite enchanting!  
> I ended this chapter sooner than I'd like, but I do enjoy the ending. I hope you are liking the interaction between Gilbert and Ludwig as well. Happy Holidays!


	8. Chapter 8

After much pestering, Ludwig ‘hired’ Gilbert to be on their team as a ‘personal assistant’. He was paid a negligible amount, paid from the team’s coffers and not Ludwig’s, but it kept his ward happy. His duties mostly included polishing brooms, cleaning the practice balls, and laundering the uniforms. The team seemed to enjoy Gilbert’s company, and he seemed to enjoy watching them practice while he did his homework.

On days off and during breaks, Frederick taught Gilbert Quidditch, as he did, and it compelled Ludwig to join along, mostly for quality assurance purposes and not because he had anything invested in Gilbert personally.

Gilbert’s favorite activity of the day, however, would probably be going to school. Ludwig no longer escorted him to and from, thankfully, and even if he had planned on it, he wasn’t sure that Gilbert would be okay with it - usually the young man was up and gone by the time Ludwig was even out of bed.

He loved school, and Ludwig could see that. He loved doing homework, loved reading his books and doing his assignments. Within the first few days he was already learning basic spells such as levitation, which Ludwig only learned about when he arrived home and saw every piece of furniture in the living room about a meter off the ground - and Gilbert right in the middle.

Friday was the home game against Soltau. The Serpents usually didn’t perform too well in the long run, so Ludwig was not overly worried about this game. Their team was cohesive, strong, and well balanced. He anticipated it would be over in less than an hour.

Gilbert was with them, providing the team with water, polished broomsticks and freshly-laundered uniforms. Being a Quidditch “water boy” was sometimes just as difficult as being a player, but it seemed to be work that Gilbert enjoyed, so Ludwig did not have much to complain about. He was efficient at his job too, surprisingly.  
“Alright team. Their main weakness is with their Seeker and Keeper - both are brand new and have yet to lead any team they’ve been on to victory. I am anticipating a short game, but remember that this is the first game of the season - not a practice. Make it quick and clean.” Ludwig led the team through the opening strategy and routine. When all was said and done, he could hear the announcer calling their team, and it was time to begin the game.

Ludwig and his teammates lined up and marched out onto the field, broomsticks in hand, heads high. The stands were packed and the crowds enthusiastic, and though Ludwig did not necessarily play for his fans or like a lot of attention, he had to admit that it was indeed a good feeling.

They met with Soltau in the middle of the field and shook hands before taking positions. The referee released the Quidditch balls and then, with the blow of a whistle, the game had begun.

Immediately Ludwig sensed that something was off. Things seemed okay; they were adhering to the strategy as planned and as usual it would fall apart shortly after execution since it was difficult to project the other team and the position of the balls. It was just something that they had to deal with.

Twenty minutes into the game, Ludwig realized what was wrong. It lay in their Keeper, Mathias.

He sucked.

Twenty minutes into the game and Soltau had already scored three times. This made no sense since they were executing very basic maneuvers that even a second or third year Quidditch player could block. Every time he could, Ludwig would glance over at the Keeper and see him floundering, struggling to keep track of the activity on the field and completely mistime when a Quaffle would come through the goal.

Of course with his distracted mind it had led to some missed shots from Ludwig himself, and he could see that the other players (sans Johann, who was a good Seeker because he focused on absolutely nothing else until he had the Snitch) were distracted by Mathias’s poor performance as well.

After an hour and a half, things had just gone from bad to worse. Mathias almost fell off his broom twice and Soltau was winning 140 points to Berlin’s 30. It was dismal. Terrible. The match should have been over by now, but instead they were getting their asses handed to them by some hick town up north!

Ludwig called a time out. All the balls retreated back to their carrier, and the teams were grounded. Time outs could only last two hours, and Ludwig hoped that was more than enough time to sort Mathias back into shape.

“What on Earth is going on up there?” Ludwig demanded the moment Mathias came within ear shot. He pointed angrily at the goalposts, trying to keep himself under control.

Mathias seemed to know it was coming. He looked shaken, scared, and anxious. 

Without waiting for an explanation, Ludwig grabbed his shoulder and marched him into the locker room, sitting him down on the bench with no degree of politeness. “Explain yourself. You haven’t blocked a single goal thrown at you! This match should have been over by now, and your shoddy performance is throwing off this entire team!”

“I…” Mathias gulped before he diverted his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t think this would be a problem. I have been trying, I have! But I have...performance anxiety-”

“What?” Ludwig shook his head. “No you don’t, you have been flawless at every practice, and you were my top performer at the tryouts!”

The team had all assembled in the locker room behind Ludwig, all watching with tense silence. Mathias could feel the pressure and was trying to make himself seem smaller in the presence of his captain and teammates. “I know, that’s...that’s my problem. I’m good in practice, I’m good in theory, but when it comes to the pressure...and the people cheering and staring, a-and things are happening so fast, and I…”

His voice faded off when Ludwig’s stare grew more and more livid. “Have you...ever...played in a real match?” he asked slowly.

Mathias took a deep breath before shaking his head.

That was enough. Ludwig, trying his very hardest to control his rage, quickly walked out of the locker room to calm down. What should he do? He was stuck with a deadbeat Keeper. He could not solve Mathias’s deeper-running issues in just two hours, nor did he want to. This betrayal was almost as bad as Christian’s - except, at least Christian gave the team time to replace him.

“What do we do?” Ludwig whispered. He looked back at the team, huddled together staring at their captain for guidance. He ushered them closer. The team crowded around, watching Ludwig expectantly. 

“Well, we can still win this,” Max said. “If Johann catches the Snitch before Soltau scores two more points, then we can win.”

Johann gave Max a doubtful look. “They scored the first two within...ten or fifteen minutes. The only way we could theoretically prevent that is if everyone on the team became Keepers until I caught the Snitch, and even then...that’s a flimsy strategy at best. No guarantee for success.”

Ludwig was about to speak again when he stopped, hearing another voice behind him, in the locker room where Mathias was quarantined. He stepped back and peered into the room, seeing Gilbert crouched in front of the Keeper, speaking to him quietly.

“...You have to keep your heart rate down, or it will affect your cognition due to the oxygen levels in your brain. You have three hoops to watch out for, right? Remember, a Keeper of your size takes up approximately 20% of the surface area blocking the goal and a broomstick of your caliber has an internal velocity of-”

“Gilbert, what are you doing?” Ludwig asked.

His speech was stopped instantly and Gilbert looked over at the inquisitive team, a slight look of frustration on his face. “I’m helping him,” he said. “He clearly doesn’t understand the rules of executing proper maneuvers as a Keeper, so I’m just offering some advice.”

Ludwig was quiet for a moment, watching Gilbert immediately launch back into his talk. Then, he turned and looked at his team, stating bluntly, “I want him as my Keeper.” He pointed directly at Gilbert.

“There is no substitution of players during a game, Ludwig,” Kurstin said, arms crossed. “We’re stuck with Mathias. We can get rid of him after the game, but-”

“That won’t do.” The Beater shook his head. “We need to win this match, or we’ll be a laughing stock and we may not be able to recover this season.”

Max put a hand on Ludwig’s hand in a stifled attempt to be comforting. “We can afford a loss if we make it up later in the season. If anything, it can be to our advantage - we lose against Soltau, the next few games will be easy because our opponents will underestimate us.”

Ludwig threaded his fingers through his hair. He had never before had to make such an agonizing decision - but yet, he had never before had such an agonizing player on the team. At this point, he was half tempted to write a letter to Voldewhoever and demand that Christian come back just for one last game. You could apparate overseas, right, into the lair of a sketchy Dark Wizard? Surely someone had attempted that before.

“Um…” Frederick, way in the back, slowly raised a hand. “Look, this is wildly illegal and could have serious consequences and have us kicked out of the league forever, but we might have a shot…” 

Everyone turned to stare, and Ludwig grimly nodded. “Tell.”

“I know where we can, um, get a polyjuice potion. Don’t have to brew one, I know where we can buy one, kinda sketch, probably not the best quality, but it’ll do it’s business, and well...we can’t have Gilbert up there in the sky but as long as the referee sees it’s Mathias...y’know…”

Silence. Frederick slowly lowered his hand, chewing on his lower lip.

“Can I ask where you know how to just...buy a ‘kinda sketch’ Polyjuice Potion?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was interested in one a while ago. For, y’know…” Frederick shrugged, glancing away, “...stuff.”

Ludwig did not wait for the inevitable bickering between the two brothers to begin. He wordlessly left the group, walking back into the locker room. Without a sound, he picked up his broom and stood behind Mathias. Just as Gilbert looked up from his pep talk to ask Ludwig what he was doing, Ludwig brought the wooden end of his broomstick down on the side of his Keeper’s temple. Mathias didn’t make a sound, instead just crumpled off the bench at Gilbert’s feet, completely limp.

Gilbert stared in horror. “Did you just assault your Keeper?”

“No,” Ludwig said. “I assaulted my former Keeper.” He turned then, left the room, and approached Frederick. “You have fifteen minutes to get me my Polyjuice Potion.”

Frederick held out his hand. “Money? It isn’t cheap, and I’m broke right now.”

With an eyeroll, Ludwig pulled out of his pocket all the money he had on him. “This should cover it. I want the change.”

Frederick apparated away, and Ludwig went back to his team. “We have to move quickly. They’re getting antsy out there…Kurstin, go undress Mathias and put his body...somewhere.”

“Why do I have to undress him?” Kurstin huffed.

“Because if someone were to come in and see one of us, the guys, undressing him, they might think that I called a time out so we could do...illicit things, and I don’t want to deal with that nightmare with the press.”

“You just knocked him unconscious!”

“Two different things. Now, do what I say.”

Kurstin slumped off to take care of Mathias, ignoring Gilbert who was still quite shocked from having the man just drop right in front of him.

Fifteen minutes passed and it felt like fifteen years to Ludwig, but Frederick finally returned with a suspicious-looking potion in his hand. “Got it,” he said with a grin. It wasn’t exactly the color of a normal Polyjuice, but it was close enough.

“My change?” Ludwig asked as he gave the potion to Kurstin so she could place a strand of Mathias’s hair inside.

“No change,” Frederick said, shaking his head. “I used the rest of the money to bribe the seller. Y’know, just in case we’re caught and they launch an investigation.”

Ludwig went to Gilbert, potion in hand, and offered it to him. “Drink this.”

Gilbert seemed uneasy, frightened even. “What does it do?”

“It will temporarily turn you into Mathias so you can play the game in his place and it will be legal.”

“But it won’t be legal, because you’re still switching-”

The potion was shoved in Gilbert’s hand. Ludwig held it firmly, slowly closing Gilbert’s fingers over it in his palm. “I need you out there,” he said honestly, looking the boy square in the eye. “If you don’t do this for me, then I’m going to forfeit the game.”

Slowly, red eyes trailed down to his hand where the potion sat innocently in his palm. “And if I...do?” he asked.

Ludwig glanced over at Mathias’s half-naked body propped up against a locker. “I have an opening for a Keeper now,” he said quietly. “If you do this, and you do this well, consider this your first game.” He prayed that Gilbert’s conscious wasn’t any better than anyone else’s on the team.

“The ref called a ten minute warning,” Johann called from outside.

Gilbert had to make a decision, and he had to make a decision -now-. “Okay,” he said at last, taking a deep, long breath. “Let’s do it.”

Kurstin came over to them with Mathias’s robes and a hair from his head. They placed the hair in the potion, watched the little puff of smoke that came upon contact, and then Gilbert drank it down like it was a vodka shot at a pub. “Tastes like-”

“Goblin piss, we know,” Ludwig said flatly.

Gilbert gave him an odd look just before he jerked suddenly, eyes widening. His eyes were the first to turn, from red to blue, and his complexion darkened a shade or two. Nose changed, became a bit larger and more square, and his hair turned straight blonde. Fortunately Mathias and Gilbert were roughly the same height and build, so there was little change in his body save for his face.

In less than a minute, Mathias stood in front of Ludwig now. “Did I change?” he asked.

“Look for yourself.” Ludwig pointed over to a far wall at a mirror.

Gilbert went over and gasped the moment he caught sight of himself, feeling along his face and hair.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough ogling yourself. I need you to look like a Quidditch player if you’re going to be one.” The Captain held his arms out to show Gilbert Mathias’s robes.

Gilbert went over and quickly changed, grinning all the while. “I can do this, I can do this,” he whispered the entire time. Just when Ludwig was about to offer Gilbert the broomstick of Mathias, the new Keeper himself ran off to a corner where he kept his things and - of course, his Dynamo broomstick. “This one.”

Ludwig waffled over allowing Gilbert’s broomstick to be played, but he realized he had no time for argument when he heard Johann’s voice again, “Five minutes! We have to get out there!”

“Whatever. Let’s go.” Ludwig took Gilbert’s shoulder and pushed him out.

The team lined up and once again filed out to a the cheers of a restless audience, overjoyed that the game was commencing. Once again, the two teams faced each other and the referee released the balls, signalling the game to resume. Ludwig briefly glanced over at Gilbert/Mathias as he mounted his broomstick. Shockingly enough, he saw his Keeper looking focused, determined, and surprisingly calm. On the outside, at least.

The whistle blew and off they went again. Gilbert immediately went to the goalpost. Ludwig, bat in hand, tried not to keep too much of an eye on him. So far, nobody had noticed anything. His mind somewhat more at ease, he turned his attention to an approaching Bludger and shot it off in the opposite direction.

The second stage of the game was as smooth as anyone could have hoped for. Gilbert was nearly flawless in his keeping of the goalpost; in two hours he had only let the Quaffle slip past his fingers twice. The rest of the team seemed to follow suit, and it brought the Badgers’ score from 30 to 110.

The score was 110 to 160. Ludwig was pursuing a Bludger near the goal post when he heard Gilbert’s - or rather, Mathias’s - voice. “Up, Ludwig! Hit up!” Gilbert leaned on his broom to kick away the Bludger with his shin. Though Ludwig, in the heat of the game and moving at such a rapid speed, did not quite register exactly what Giblert was telling him, he was there just as the Bludger rebounded off of Gilbert’s padded shin and Ludwig, instead of hitting the Bludger back towards the center of the field, he hit it, a bit awkwardly, upwards higher into the air. The Bludger shot directly above him, and Ludwig watched as it collided with the end of Soltau’s Keeper just as he was pursuing the Snitch.

The Keeper spun out and Johann, not far away, quickly made up the ground that his opponent had lost, and seconds later, had enclosed the Snitch around his palm.  
Ludwig almost fell off his broomstick from shock and joy. The crowd roared at such a stunning comeback. He looked over at Gilbert, cheering and clapping, having trouble keeping still on his broomstick.

The teams both lowered to the ground, embraced each other and shook hands. Ludwig focused on Gilbert, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“You did it!” he said, smiling despite himself. He gripped both of Gilbert’s shoulders just before pulling him into a big hug.

At first Gilbert seemed quite surprised at the sudden display of affection, but soon laughed and hugged him back. “It was great! I was having so much fun!” He had to shout to be heard over the crowd.

Ludwig pulled back to look at him again, but immediately that frown fell when he caught sight of Gilbert’s face - namely, that he was looking at Gilbert’s face. No longer blonde-haired, blue eyed Mathias, but white-haired, red-eyed Gilbert. Quickly he looked around and noticed that several other people had noticed too - the referee, the other team, and much of the crowd.

Quickly, Ludwig put his arm around Gilbert’s shoulders and ran him off the field into the locker room, the team following suit.

“What do we do?” Johann demanded, glancing behind him just before shutting the door to the locker room. “They know, they all know! They all watched him transform right back to himself.”

Ludwig had to think quickly. “Did they call the win?” he asked, running his fingers through his hair quickly.

“Yes,” Kurstin said. “They called it as we landed.”

Okay. That was good, at least. “Once a win is called, it cannot be repealed,” he muttered.

“That’s all well and good mate but it’s not going to mean anything if the team is disbanded for deception and breaking the rules,” Johann snapped.

Max rubbed his temples. “We should have just accepted the loss and made the gains later,” he whispered. “This game was not worth it.”

“Shut up,” Ludwig snapped, glaring at his whole team. He then took a deep breath and turned to face the team. “This is what happened. Mathias was deemed unfit to play from the beginning, we did not have time to notify the proper authorities in time, so we used the Polyjuice Potion on Gilbert from the beginning.”

“Are you kidding?” Kurstin went over to Mathias’s still unconscious body and tried to rouse him. “Our Keeper is terrible, we call a timeout, disappear for an hour, and come back with a Keeper who performs exceptionally better and on a different broomstick. How is anybody going to believe that they were the same person the entire time?”

“Not to mention, Mathias can very easily say what really happened. He probably won’t want to be on our side when he wakes up and finds out, y’know, his captain knocked him out and stole his identity for a win,” Johann said.

Ludwig opened his mouth to speak but there was a pounding on the door. 

“Berlin Badgers, you are needed outside for questioning.”

“Once they see Mathias it’ll all be over,” Frederick hissed. “What do we do?”

Wolfgang was their third Chaser. He rarely spoke, and even rarer without prompting. “I will take him,” he said in his usual deep voice. “I can apparate out of here. My sister is a nurse and she can take care of him.”

It was decided that was the best. Wolfgang apparated off with the evidence and Ludwig opened the door. The referee stood there, with police behind them. “You’re needed for questioning of the integrity of the game. And...this team.”

Ludwig nodded and filed out with the team behind him.

“Where is your last member?”

“Emergency,” Frederick piped up from the back. “He got notice he had to be with his sister immediately after the game. He left before we realized there might be a...problem.”

They were already lying their way through this entire ordeal anyways, Ludwig thought. Who cares now who is lying about what?

Wands were taken, and they were led out and apparated - the police holding on to each individual as they were taken into question.

The team was taken to the headquarters of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, located in Munich. The entire team was placed in a rather cramped and bland conference room. “We will be getting the Head of the Department, who will decide your fate,” the referee said ominously before shutting and locking the team inside.

Max sighed heavily and sat down on one of the nearby chairs, looking over at his brother with a resigned look. “Frederick. Start thinking about possible career options for us.”

Frederick sat next to him. “I can juggle,” he said with a grin. “You think I could make a good clown?”

“You already are one. I said careers, not lifestyles.” 

Gilbert, meanwhile, leaned against a nearby wall, crossing his arms over his chest, not speaking. Ludwig noticed the slight nervousness in his eyes and moved to next to him. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Gilbert smiled up at him. “This is nothing. You don’t survive being homeless for seven years without one or two brushes with the law,” he offered a broad grin, but Ludwig knew better - that smile was too empty. Gilbert was dreading what was coming.

“I’m sorry,” Ludwig said quietly. “This is my fault, I-”

“Shh,” His new-and-possibly-last Keeper, still dressed in Mathias’s uniform, placed a finger over his lips. “Don’t say anything that might incriminate you. Speaking of which, where are our lawyers? Don’t we have a legal team, or some kind of legal representation?”

“I could be a lawyer,” he heard Frederick say across the room, and he heard Max hit him upside the head.

Ludwig decided to perhaps put Gilbert’s mind at ease. “We aren’t arrested yet. We’re just meeting with the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Even if we’re found...guilty, if you could call it that, we won’t be arrested. Breaking rules in sports is not the same as breaking laws in society.”

Another agonizing forty five minutes passed in the bright conference room without a word from the outside world. Ludwig was already imagining what kind of statement he would have to make to the public and he too was considering what he might do afterwards. Clearly his Quidditch career was over.

Finally the door opened and a secretary poked her head in. “The Head of Department would like to speak to Mr. Beilschmidt and...he is simply described as ‘the deceiver’.”

“That would be me,” Gilbert mumbled.

The two of them filed out of the room and followed the woman through a maze of hallways to the Head of Department’s office. Posters of Quidditch teams past and present were framed on the wall, as well as various photographs of star teams and crucial moments caught on film. They passed by the Berlin Badgers at one point and Ludwig gulped when he realized that that team poster would probably have to be removed in the next few hours.

‘Was it worth it?’ he thought to himself. No, not at all. Less for himself, and more for his team. They were all amazing players. Gilbert, who had so much talent, would never see another game. That was what bothered Ludwig the most.

Into the Department Head’s office. He was a short, stout, intimidating man who went by Julius Schmidt. He was reclined in a plush chair, reading over what looked like the incident report from the game. Ludwig knew him casually; he was a fan of their team and of Ludwig’s captaining. ‘Not anymore,’ Ludwig thought.

“Good afternoon,” he said, placing the paper down and eyeing the two of them. “Ludwig, it’s always a pleasure to see you, I just never expected to see you in...a situation such as this.”

Ludwig and Gilbert stood in front of his desk, side by side. There was no place to sit.

“Afternoon, sir,” Ludwig said stiffly.

“So, we’ll get down to it. I am reading a report and see this photograph of what looks like your new Keeper, Mathias, is that right? Completely transforming into this individual after the game. Let’s go through the entire afternoon, shall we?” He leaned back and held the paper up to his face. “The referee tells me that the game began as scheduled, with your new keeper performing, ah...as he put it, ‘he looked like a cat who had gotten lost in a paper bag up there’...anyways, ninety minutes into the game, you called a time out...timeout lasted one hour, and when you returned to the field your Keeper was on a different broomstick, and his performance was exponentially better, allowing the Berlin Badgers to win the game two hours later. Once landed on the pitch, your Keeper Mathias...transformed into...this young man here.”

Without waiting for either one of them to reply, Julius looked at Gilbert. “Were you the one playing that game?”

“Yes, sir,” Gilbert said.

He ushered for Gilbert to move forward and he did. “Tell me your name.”

“Gilbert, sir. Gilbert...Beilschmidt.”

The man slowly raised an eyebrow. “That is Ludwig’s last name.”

“Yes, well, he kind of adopted me. It’s complicated, I think.”

Taking that as he will, the Department Head decided not to elaborate further. “So, you seem young. Are you in school?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, how long have you been in school?”

Gilbert shifted a bit, giving a sidelong glance to Ludwig before looking back at the man. “About a week, sir. I go to the...Hohenzollern Academy at Charlottenburg.”

Ludwig watched as Julius’ brow raised. “Adult schooling? Are you East German.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You do realize that if such deception had happened on school grounds it could be grounds for expulsion and having your wand destroyed?”

Ludwig closed his eyes tightly and gulped. Damn. Gilbert had been so excited to start school, had been so excited to get a wand, actually be a full-fledged wizard in the wizarding world and now…

“It’s a good thing then, sir, that this deception did not happen on school grounds.”

Ludwig opened his eyes and looked directly at Gilbert in surprise at his bold response. He often found himself forgetting that Gilbert was not just a reckless teenager who became excitable about animated lions and ice cream, but he was a force to reckon with - a reckless teenager who, he remembered, had cracked someone’s jaw with the end of a broomstick.

After remembering that, Ludwig realized that perhaps Gilbert could stand a bit of interrogation. 

Julius’s eyes narrowed, not appreciating Gilbert’s comeback. “Tell me then, Gilbert, what happened during that timeout?”

“Nothing happened, sir,” said Gilbert.

“I don’t believe that.”

Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “Some people don’t believe that man has landed on the moon.”

Slowly, the man raised an eyebrow and he leaned back in his chair, watching Gilbert carefully. “You’re going to tell me your involvement in this plot. From beginning, to end.”

There was silence in the room for several paralyzing seconds. Gilbert did not move, simply gave the man an unreadable look, and the man gave the same look back.

“Sir…” Ludwig spoke up, but Julius raised a hand in his direction to hush him. 

“Not a word out of you.” He kept his eyes trained on Gilbert, who had yet to falter.

Finally, Gilbert closed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Very well,” he said slowly and took a deep breath to confess all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! A cliffhanger! D: What will Gilbert say? What will become of the Berlin Badgers? "Frederick the Clown - coming to a birthday party near you!"
> 
> So, this chapter went in a wildly different direction than I originally planned. Basically the chapter was going to end with Mathias being horrible, Ludwig calling a timeout, Gilbert getting on the broomstick, the game is won and the day is saved. Woohoo! Then I actually read the official Quidditch rules - That no substitution of players was allowed under any circumstance. So I had to work around that, and thus, the Polyjuice Potion Plot was born. It's taken an interesting turn and I'm satisfied with how it's turned out. So that's why this chapter took so long!
> 
> Enjoy!


	9. Chapter 9

The door slammed open behind the two wizards. They both turned sharply and Ludwig’s eyes grew wide when he saw who the intruder was.

Mathias.

Standing the doorway, panting, red-faced, and with an ice pack taped to his head, stood Ludwig’s (former) Keeper. There was already dread in Ludwig’s stomach, but at that moment he could have died. Any chance of redemption, bullshitting, or salvation slipped away the moment the door opened. Mathias would tell him straight away how Ludwig had knocked him out, how he had woken up and someone else had taken his place…

No smart words from Gilbert could save them now.

“Don’t--” Mathias panted, stepping forward past the two, pulled out his wand, and quickly transfigured a nearby wooden statue into a chair so he could plunk down in it in front of the man.

Ludwig glanced over at the doorway and saw a winded Wolfgang who had just caught up. He shot the man a particularly nasty glare before looking back forward. He heard mumbled voices behind him; someone was escorting Wolfgang away, probably back to the team.

“Mathias,” the Department Head said slowly. “I’m surprised you are...joining us.”

“I can explain,” Mathias said, shaking his head and putting his hand on the ice pack to reinforce it. “I dunno whatever Gilbert has told you already, but it’s a lie.”  
Gilbert and Ludwig glanced at each other, both curious about where this was going. Ludwig was still certain he was going to have to send hitmen after Mathias in order to fully silence him.

“He has yet to tell me anything,” the man said simply. “They’ve been...avoiding the subject, to put it lightly.”

Mathias smiled at that and glanced at Ludwig and Gilbert behind him. “Well yes, of course, as I had instructed them to.”

Ludwig looked somewhat startled at that confession, staring at Mathias before glancing over to Gilbert, who remained passive. Either the kid was in on it too, or he was very good at hiding his emotions (well, at least in this instance).

“Would you care to enlighten me as to what is going on?” Julius snapped, clearly irritated with the lack of answers from all three.

“The whole ordeal is my fault,” Mathias said quickly, closing his eyes. “Gilbert, you see, is brand new to magic. I...I can’t play, sir. I’m absolutely awful at it. So I bought a Polyjuice Potion off of some vendor in the street before the match and I told Gilbert to play for me. I mean, he really didn’t want to, but I managed to convince him that it would be okay…”

Ludwig’s head was swimming. What the hell was going on? That was the exact opposite of what happened! Nonetheless, Mathias wasn’t flinging names and accusations so he did his best to keep a straight face.

Mathias continued on. “I told him the drink was an energy booster.”

“A shitty energy booster,” Gilbert mumbled. “Tasted like goblin piss.”

“See?” Mathias nodded in Gilbert’s direction.

Julius held his hand up then. “Wait, Mathias, why not just let Gilbert play and you sit out? Why the Polyjuice?”

Mathias fell silent for a moment before giving a resigned sigh. “I wasn’t going to play but I still wanted the recognition that I did, you know?” He glanced at Gilbert, who continued the tale.

“I had never even heard of Polyjuice before. He gave it to me and I just felt so violently ill...he said it was part of it though.”

“Did you feel yourself change?” Julius asked.

Gilbert was quiet for a long time before speaking. “Not really. I just felt my body ache and my head swam. So I sat down for a bit. I told Mathias that I just couldn’t do it, but about five minutes before the match, I felt better. Nervous though, but that was the only difference. I mean we’re the same height and build, I guess, and I didn’t get to look at myself in the mirror - or maybe I did glance a little bit but I didn’t really register that I had changed. So we went out there. Nobody said anything to me because I figured he had already told the team and captain of the changes.”

Julius took this all in with a questioning look. “...And Ludwig never once called you Mathias?”

Gilbert in return shot the man a flat look. “Please. You act as if Ludwig calls anyone other than ‘hey you’ and ‘dumbass’. I mean, Max and Frederick are Thing 1 and Thing 2 and-”

“Enough, enough, I get it.”

Ludwig shot Gilbert a look, however the Keeper ignored it, and continued his ‘account of events’. “So I was up there, and I don’t know, I guess with the atmosphere, and being on a different broomstick - Mathias gave me his broomstick because it’s top-of-the-line or something - and the drink still wasn’t sitting well with me. My head was swimming and I almost fell off a few times. So that’s why I was doing so badly.” He sighed. “Ludwig called the time out, and I just said I needed something like a snack, and a rest, and my familiar broomstick. Ludwig was mad but I didn’t think anything of it. He usually is. So they gave me food and I napped on the floor for maybe forty five minutes, and then when we were out, I grabbed my Dynamo broomstick and I was just fine.”

“And nobody suspected anything.”

“Nope.”

Julius frowned. “Not a very observant lot, are you…”

Gilbert shrugged nonchalantly. “Sir, with respect to the team, we’re in the business of sports. We’re not exactly using what our diplomas prepared us for, and I have the formal education of a ten year-old.”

There was silence in the room afterwards. Mathias had moved to stand next to Ludwig and Gilbert, and Julius eyed all three of them. “Ludwig, is that all correct?”

“As far as I know,” Ludwig said immediately. “I had no idea anything had happened until after the match, when the Potion wore off and I was looking at Gilbert and not Mathias.” A fleeting thought that he hated lying ran through his head, but then he realized that pretty much ever since they had given the Polyjuice potion to Gilbert, he had been lying. He couldn’t exactly claim to hate it anymore.

Julius leaned back in his seat and did not say anything. He picked up the photograph and analyzed it closely, looking back and forth between it and the three accused before him. Gilbert and Mathias stood still and confident, blank expressions on their face. Ludwig, however, could not help but feel slightly panicked. What would happen? If he bought the story Mathias told, that would make it seem as if the Badgers had no idea about the deception, thereby alleviating them of blame.  
But if he didn’t… their punishment could be even worse. They were deceiving the Head of Games, after all.

Finally he spoke. “I still think something is going on,” he mumbled, tossing the papers down. “However I have no proof other than the word of you idiots.” He sighed and leaned back, watching them closely.

“Mathias. You are hereby banned from participating in Quidditch at the national level.”

Mathias nodded, accepting his punishment silently.

“Badgers.” His eyes went to Ludwig. “Your team will continue. You cannot switch Keepers for the remainder of the season - I don’t care if Gilbert dies, you will continue the season without a Keeper, then. In the meanwhile, as your punishment for being so oblivious and stupid, your next match will take place as scheduled, however you will not be playing with a Seeker.”

Ludwig’s eyes widened at that. “No...Seeker? Why are you punishing Johann for the mistakes of others? You’re condemning our team to lose!”

“One, I am not punishing Johann. I am punishing the entire team. Johann will still be paid accordingly. He will simply not play. He may even be pleased with the news - he can take it as a small holiday. And two, a match without a Seeker does not guarantee a loss. Look at how this past World Cup ended.”

“I thought the World Cup ended in fire and terrorism,” Gilbert said quietly.

“The match, I mean,” Julius snapped. “Not the actual event. By not having a Seeker you guarantee that the other team will catch the Snitch and score 150 points - but if you score more than that in that time, then you will still win.” His eyes slid to Gilbert. “Let’s hope you are successful enough to allow your teammates to keep a score above your opponents.”

Gilbert just gulped and nodded. “I will, sir.”

“Good.” Julius sighed heavily. “Now. I don’t want to hear of this debacle again, and I don’t want to see your faces unless it is in a newspaper article reporting your successes. Out.”

The three of them filed out silently, and it was only a few steps later that Ludwig finally broke down and asked what was on his mind. He turned to Mathias, walking next to Gilbert. “What the hell was that?” he asked, still bewildered by Mathias’s apparent sacrifice. “You...made up some bizarre story that didn’t even happen!”

“It saved your ass, didn’t it?” Mathias said back. He sighed and glanced down at the floor. “I felt badly. It’s my fault, after all, that this happened. I should have told you about my performance anxiety, how I had never played...then I know you would have picked Gilbert at try outs and you wouldn’t even be in this situation.”

Gilbert stopped then and looked at Mathias, who stopped as well. “You know what this means, right? You’re banned...you can’t play anymore Quidditch.”

Mathias slowly smiled and shrugged. “Yeah. I think, though, that is probably for be best, considering I doubt I’ll be able to ever really play. I’ll keep watching you guys, though, and keep rooting for you.”

Despite being a little shit, Mathias seemed like he was genuinely a nice guy. Ludwig felt badly for yelling at him and then knocking him unconscious. Only a little bit, though. “Perhaps you can...you know, be a reporter, or an announcer,” he suggested quietly.

Mathias smiled at Ludwig. “I never thought of that but...yeah. I think I might try that.”

The three of them walked back to where the rest of the team waited. Ludwig opened the door to find Johann staring out the window with a concerned look, and Kurstin sound asleep, leaning against Wolfgang at the table with her arms crossed. Frederick stood near the far wall and was juggling three of his brother’s unamused heads. The headless Max sat next to Frederick with his arms crossed in displeasure.

Everyone jumped up when Ludwig entered the room. Two of Max’s three heads disappeared and the last one floated seamlessly back onto Max’s body. All were standing by the time Ludwig, Gilbert, and Mathias filed in.

The strange look that Ludwig gave Frederick and his brother prompted the Chaser to speak. “I was just...practicing my act,” he said sheepishly. “You know, for when the team disbands and I am forced to become a party clown to make ends meet.”

“Well thank the Lord, the world will be saved from your ‘act’. We’re still a team,” said Ludwig quickly. It seemed at that moment the entire team exhaled at once. He glanced over his shoulder at Mathias and nodded once. “Mathias was gracious enough to...take the hit, so to speak.” He looked back at his team. “I'll fill you in later on the details of the fabricated story, in case any member of the public asks what happened during the game.”

The team nodded and seemed relieved. “So that’s it?” Johann asked.

“No,” Ludwig this time took a deep breath, slightly anxious about how to tell the team their punishment. “Because of this, Mathias is banned from professional Quidditch. Also…” he paused before continuing. “The next game we play, we have to play without a Seeker.”

“What?” Johann started forward at that. “Without a Seeker? How are we going to catch the Snitch, then?”

Ludwig shook his head. “We don’t. This next game will be played on the defensive. The other team will catch the team and end the game.”

“There’s no way we can win,” Frederick whispered, sitting back down and staring at the floor. “We might as well not even play.”

Kurstin, ever the voice of reason, did her best to lift the team’s spirits. “That isn’t guaranteed. Just look at how the World Cup ended.”

“I thought the World Cup ended in fire and terrorism,” Frederick said quietly.

Ludwig rolled his eyes. “Not the event, idiot. The match. Bulgaria caught the Snitch, but Ireland still won.” With that, he straightened up. “We are going to repeat that victory in our next match. We must gain more than 150 points - at least - in order to achieve victory. That means that everyone has to be on their top game. My Chasers need to be scoring every minute. Beaters need to club the opposing team into submission. And my Keeper…” he looked at Gilbert. The rest of the team looked at Gilbert. “Not a single goal needs to get through.”

Gilbert gulped and nodded slowly. “I can do it.”

“I know you can,” he said, then turned back to his team. “Now, let’s Apparate out of here. I need lunch.”

“Can’t do that,” Mathias said quietly. “the Department doesn’t allow Apparition out of its building - only into it. We’ll have to use the Floo Network.”

Kurstin shook her head. “Their Network isn’t working right now. We already asked.”

Ludwig grumbled unhappily under his breath and nodded. “Typical. Right, right, well just leave and then Apparate off the grounds.”

They filed out the room and towards the exit. Johann jogged to Ludwig’s side. “I just want to warn you,” the Seeker said apprehensively. “It’s mad out there.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Ludwig.

“Journalists. Photographers. They all know we went under questioning in Munich and they’ve been gathered out there since shortly after we arrived.”

Ludwig was beginning to develop a massive headache. “Merlin…” he mumbled. The Captain stopped then and looked behind him at those who followed. “Not a word to any of the journalists, do you understand? Look as neutral as possible for the photographs. Do not stop. Do not do anything but move past them. We need to come with an official statement, but that will come after we are back in Berlin. Until then, not a word.”

They left the building and, sure enough, the moment the doors opened they were mobbed by journalists and photographers, demanding a statement, the story, what happened, who the mysterious Keeper was, and if Ludwig had anything to say.

Ludwig was a pro at dealing with this by now. He moved through the crowds, not making eye contact with any of them and not opening his mouth. When he was almost through the thick, he glanced behind him to make sure that his team was still behind him. They were all just behind him except...Gilbert. A female journalist had caught his arm and was introducing herself aggressively.

“Hi there, my name is Rita Sk-”

“Gilbert!” Ludwig wasn’t even going to deal with this. “Let’s go!”

Gilbert looked between the woman who held his arm and Ludwig, and he just smiled at her. “Sorry,” he said to her. “I have to go.” He then tugged his arm away and jogged to catch up.

They managed to avoid the crowds and apparate back to Berlin, right in front of the team's favorite pub.

“Well that wasn’t so bad,” Frederick said cheerfully. The rest of the team gave him a long look before retiring inside.

Ludwig went inside and sat down at the Badger’s usual table. Gilbert sat on his right and Johann on his left. Kurstin across from him next to Wolfgang, and Frederick and Max took up the ends. He glanced at the door and saw Mathias slowly retreating back out the door. He felt badly, suddenly. Sure, Mathias wasn’t apart of the team anymore but...well, he was the reason they were still gathered as a team to begin with.

“Mathias!” he called, watching the man stop. “Get in here!”

For the last time, Mathias joined them at the table and a round of drinks was ordered (water for Gilbert though, since he wasn’t old enough to drink). It was then, with a drink in his hand, food on the way, and surrounded by his teammates, that Ludwig felt truly at ease.

“Having fun?” Gilbert asked him. Glancing next to him, he saw the young man grinning broadly.

“Something like that,” he muttered, ruffling Gilbert’s hair.

Gilbert laughed and smoothed his hair back down, and then took a long drink of water. “I’m glad that I’m on the team,” he said quietly. “Not to cut down Mathias but...I am happy.”

Ludwig watched him for a moment or two before speaking again. “...Me too,” he said. “You’re a good Keeper. And a good teammate. I’m glad you’re with us.”

***

The next week was the game -- a home game, against the Heidelberg Harriers. They were an incredibly difficult team to match, and Ludwig was honestly dreading the confrontation. Games against most southern German teams were long -- as in days and days long -- and Heidelberg was no exception. The last match he played against them had lasted three and a half days.

Because of this, he trained the team extra hard. Not only were they against a difficult team, they were challenging them without a Seeker. They would need to be at their best. It was going to be a long game, he already knew that, and with only one Seeker on the field it might go on even longer. They trained more than they ever had. Every morning until every night. The only one who was allowed outside of practice was Gilbert, who was only allowed off the pitch to go to class. Ludwig felt a little bit badly; he recalled waking up at 2:00 in the morning to find Gilbert in the living room, doing his homework by candle light because it was the only time he had to finish it.

It was difficult to manage, Ludwig knew that. Not only because of the long practice and complicated schoolwork, but the public had learned about the Badgers’ new addition to the team, and he became somewhat of a celebrity within the Quidditch world. Gilbert was almost the perfect candidate for this kind of media frenzy. He was young, with a mysterious, tragic backstory. He was one of the only East Germans playing professionally, and the only one playing while still in school.

“I want to be an inspiration to East German wizards and witches,” he said in an interview a few days after the incident that launched him into the public eye. “I want them to know that they can learn magic and assimilate successfully into magical life.”

Gilbert was youthful and attractive and talented and enigmatic and kind of innocent, and the public just ate him up. Suddenly people wanted Dynamo broomsticks, they wanted to tell their friends about adult education, they wanted albino boyfriends, they wanted Quidditch robes with Gilbert’s name on the back, and they wanted to be Keepers. Frederick, who had always been the face and personality of the Badgers with his looks and charisma, suddenly had serious competition, and it sparked a friendly rivalry over who could become the bigger hearthrob.

Ludwig wasn’t sure how Gilbert was handling the stress; he never complained and always seemed eager to do everything, from the most basic exercises to a request to do the same pitch for the twentieth time. He always did it, and always seemed grateful for the work. Ludwig made sure to always tell Gilbert how important he was to the team. “You can make or break this game,” he repeated. “You are the one who can ensure victory for us.” Gilbert always took it in stride, and seemed to internalize the words wit how he pushed himself a little bit more every day.

The morning of the big game Ludwig awoke early -- even earlier than usual. The house was quiet, the sun hardly risen. The game was in a few hours.  
He went to the kitchen to get coffee and poked his head into Gilbert’s room on the way. Strangely, his bed was empty. Assuming that Gilbert was already awake, Ludwig continued on to the kitchen, poured himself some coffee, and grabbed an apple to eat. Gilbert was not in the kitchen. Nor was he in the living room, nor in the dining room. Ludwig continued searching the house more thoroughly, but Gilbert was nowhere to be found.

Gilbert was not in the house. He was not immediately outside of the house, either, in the yard or on the roof or making a treehouse. After ruling out a possible kidnapping, Ludwig reasoned that his ward must have gotten antsy and left go to the pitch early. That was a perfectly reasonable assumption - perhaps Frederick had invited him for an early-morning warm up practice?

He downed his coffee, put on his Quidditch robes, and then apparated to the pitch.

There was nobody there except for the groundskeeper, a few officials and referees to administer the game, and, most surprisingly, his team - sans Gilbert.

“None of us could sleep,” Johann confessed. He was dressed and ready for the game, even though he knew that he would not be playing. “We all kind of arrived within twenty minutes of each other.”

Gilbert’s absence was conspicuous.

“Where’s Gilbert?” Ludwig asked worriedly.

Kurstin glanced around with the other teammates. “He’s not with you?”

“No. I woke up, and he was gone.”

Worry started to take a hold of Ludwig then. Gilbert wasn’t here. He wasn’t at home. Nobody had seen him since practice the day before. He had given no indication that he was going anywhere. Ludwig had last seen him the previous night, finishing up his homework and promising Ludwig that he would go to bed himself shortly after Ludwig did.

“We need to find him,” Ludwig said quickly. “When is the game?”

“An hour and a half,” Max reminded them. “That’s when we line up.”

Not a lot of time. Not to find a missing kid, anyhow. Where on earth could Gilbert be?

“Where do we start?” Kurstin asked.

Ludwig had to stop his brain from short-circuiting from working so hard. “Back to the house,” he said. “I need to see if he brought this broomstick. If it’s still in his room...knowing how much he keeps that thing with him...we could have a larger problem on our hands.”

“Well we’ll worry about that if it happens.” Frederick put his hand on Max’s shoulder comfortingly. “Let’s go.”

Back to the house they went. Ludwig immediately went to Gilbert’s room while the rest of the team snooped around the house. Gilbert’s broom was missing just like its owner, and that was actually a relief. It meant, at least, that wherever Gilbert had gone, it was deliberate. Nobody had taken him.

“Let’s try the pub?” Frederick offered when they met up again at the front door. “Maybe he went for...I don’t know, food or something?”

It was the best guess they had. Off to the pub they went, but to no avail - it wasn’t even open. In fact, the street was nearly empty. It was just too early. Most of the people out on the street were the ones heading down to the Quidditch pitch to catch the game. Many of them wished Ludwig and his team luck, but he hardly registered it.

“He didn’t have class, did he? Maybe some early morning seminar?” Kurstin suggested, a lost look on her face.

Ludwig struggled to think if Gilbert had mentioned anything school-related that may have scheduling conflicts with the game, but he was coming up blank. “He never mentioned anything like that, and he knows not to miss this game, not for anything.” He ran his fingers through his hair, stressed and worried. 

“We can try Charlottenburg,” Johann suggested. “It’s better than standing around here...we only have an hour until we start.”

It was impossible to apparate directly onto Charlottenburg Palace grounds, partially for security reasons and also because it was in the middle of muggle territory. However, they could get as close as possible. Another fifteen minutes of teleporting and walking, and they were in front of the Prussian palace. However, nobody was around except for a few pedestrians and a group of Malaysian tourists, who stared openly at the team dressed in their unusual Quidditch robes.

Frederick jogged around to the back, where the gardens were, and soon returned. “Nothing,” he said. It was too early to go inside the palace even for tourists, so there was an incredibly slim chance of him being inside.

“Where could he be...” Ludwig whispered, his hands moving to his forehead. “Where on Earth could he be?”

“Maybe he got nervous and took a walk?” Kurstin offered.

It was certainly possible, but where could he go? Ludwig’s neighborhood was only so big. And they would have seen him by now with all their searching. If Gilbert was indeed nervous before a big game, he would want his broom with him, which was his comfort item. So he would want to go to a place where he was also comfortable. Where else, other than the house?

It struck Ludwig hard and fast, and he felt like such an idiot for wasting so much time.

“I know where he is.”

The entire team perked up at that. “You do? Where?” Frederick asked eagerly.

“Come on. I’ll lead you.” Ludwig took off in a dead run and his team struggled to match his pace. Of course; it was so obvious. Gilbert would go to a place that was comfortable, familiar, and homely. He couldn’t apparate since none of the other teammates exactly knew where it was, so he was stuck navigating through early-morning Berlin.

Finally, he arrived. Somehow he had made it there in only twenty minutes. He stopped and looked up at the building. A large, abandoned warehouse in the middle of former East Berlin.

“Uh, Lud…” Frederick put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Are you sure this is where he’d be? This, uh...isn’t the best part of town.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Ludwig said as he headed inside. “But it’s where a homeless East German boy would call home.”

Already the warehouse looked different from what Ludwig remembered. More graffiti, more drug addicts, and more trash. Ludwig was honestly relieved that he had pulled Gilbert out there when he did.

Up to the third floor he went, the team following only out of obligation. Finally, he arrived at the right floor and looked into the far corner where Gilbert used to live.  
It was very bare, as though no one had never lived there. The walls which used to be plastered with film and Quidditch posters were empty, save for one faded Star Wars: A New Hope poster that Ludwig was sure Gilbert had only left behind because he had a duplicate. The busted couch was still there, as was the television, however the electrical cords leading out of the window were gone, and the television itself had been smashed in.

There was nobody in sight, but since the back of the couch was facing him, he couldn’t tell if there was anybody sitting or laying on it. He did hear a slight sniffle, which gave him the encouragement to advance forward.

He glanced behind him at his team, who ushered him forward without moving themselves. “We’ll wait,” Kurstin whispered. “Go get him.”

Ludwig continued forward and rounded the sofa. Sure enough, he saw Gilbert sitting in the middle of it. He was hunched over a rectangular coffee table that was almost completely covered in cocaine. One hand was mapping out an entire complex Quidditch strategy in the white powder, and the other hand was clutching his broomstick close to him. His eyes were watery and redder than usual. It was obvious he had been crying.

Next to Gilbert, sprawled against the corner of the couch, was a random stranger, his eyes closed and body still, but Gilbert seemed to be ignoring him completely.  
He at first was alarmed to see Gilbert in front of what must be worth a king’s ransom in cocaine, however judging by how intently Gilbert was using the substance for his Quidditch diagram and not for its intended purpose, he had a suspicion that his ward had stumbled upon the table full of drugs and had no inclination to really use it. “Gilbert?” Ludwig asked apprehensively. 

Gilbert jumped sharply when he heard Ludwig call his name and he turned sharply, wiping his eyes and then his fingers. “I’m not...snortin’ anything, I just...found it like this and I…”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Ludwig saw how distressed Gilbert was - it was obvious he had not slept or eaten, he had been crying and was in a horrible state. He just could not be mad or upset at him for leaving. “Talk to me,” he said with a surprising amount of concern, sitting next to Gilbert. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I...I’m sorry,” Gilbert glanced away in shame. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just...last night, I couldn’t get to sleep, I kept thinking about the game and…”

Hesitantly, Ludwig placed his hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “Are you nervous?”

Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut and gulped harshly, nodding. “It just all hit me, I guess. It did, it all hit me. I was thinking about the game, and how much you were relying on me for this, how I couldn’t fuck up, and then I thought about how many people would be watching me, how many people suddenly look up to me, know who I am and know my life, and I just...I got scared.” He said the last words shamefully, his voice low.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ludwig said. Usually he was quite awful with these kinds of things - dealing with touchy-feely subjects and making people feel better; quite often he was better at making people feel worse. But somehow, with Gilbert, he felt that he just knew what to say. “It can be hard, being thrust into the limelight like that. I know how that can be. You’re a celebrity now, and it happened practically overnight.”

“It isn’t just that,” Gilbert shook his head. “It’s more than that. I just...last night, it all just hit me. Everything that’s happened the past few months, all just hit me. Suddenly I have a home, with you! One of my idols! And I’m learning magic, and I’m playing Quidditch professionally, and everyone knows my name and they say I’m some kind of inspiration and I just...I don’t know how to handle it all.” He put his head in his hands and fisted his hair. “Things don’t happen to me like this, Ludwig….good things don’t happen to me. I’m so used to having to claw my way through life, fighting tooth and nail just to get by. That’s my life, that’s what I’m used to! I’m not used to things happening to me that I want. These Quidditch robes and this wand and this home with you…it just doesn’t feel real, it doesn’t feel like it’s my life, like it’s happening to me…”

He finished his word vomit and slumped back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. For a few moments, Ludwig didn’t exactly know what to say. Then, just as Gilbert let his feelings tumble out, so did Ludwig:

“I can’t pretend that I know what you’re going through,” he said. “I’ve only experienced what you have to a certain degree. And I can only do so much for you, Gilbert. I can’t give you everything you deserve.” He put his hand on Gilbert’s knee and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I can’t give you your family back. I can’t give you back the home that was taken from you. I can’t put you on the right side of that wall, I can’t send you the letter you deserved when you turned ten. I can’t do any of that. But you approached me that day in the pub, holding your stupid broomstick like your life depended on it. I don’t know why I even gave you the time of day. I really...don’t. Maybe it’s because of that stupid broomstick, maybe it’s because I saw the blind faith in that thing that was in your eyes, and maybe I wanted to prove you wrong -- or maybe I wanted you to prove me wrong.”

Those words made Gilbert look up and watch Ludwig with questioning eyes. He didn’t say anything, however, silently encouraging Ludwig to continue with his train of thought.

“I can’t give you everything that I want to, but damn it, you don’t just enter my life as...rudely and abruptly as you did and then just walk away when you suddenly have everything. You can’t just do that. Like it or not, Gilbert, you’re on a team now. And a team is...well, it’s a family. Ours is...a little bit dysfunctional…” he glanced behind the couch to see his Badgers. Frederick had just unwrapped a condom he had found on the floor and was busy blowing it up, taking requests for balloon animals, and Kurstin was scolding Johann for attempting to graffiti the wall behind them with a nearby can of spray paint.

“...But it’s still a family. I care about every one of these people and Gilbert, that includes you.” He put his hands on Gilbert’s shoulders and squeezed them tightly. “You are my family, Gilbert. You are very important to me, not just as a Keeper of my Quidditch team but…” A deep sigh. Now things were getting difficult to articulate. “When I realized you were gone and I didn’t know where you went, I was scared, I won’t deny that. I was very scared because I thought something had happened to you, or something could have happened to you.”

Ludwig leaned forward, placed his hand on the back of Gilbert’s neck and pressed their foreheads together, looking into his eyes very closely. “You are very precious to me, Gilbert. I know you’re scared about the future, and this all seems bigger than you, but I need you to trust in me. If you want to be alone, fine. If you want to come back here, fine. But you need to tell me. So I can be at ease, and I can look out for you. I know you aren’t used to relying on or trusting other people, but I ask that you trust me. Please.”

Gilbert watched him closely before closing his eyes, nodding his head a little bit, and then fell forward to hug Ludwig tightly, burying his face in the crook of the man’s neck. He didn’t say a word for a long time, and Ludwig didn’t dare interrupt whatever was going through his head. So for several minutes they embraced, with Ludwig gently rubbing his Keeper’s back. He felt Gilbert’s fingers curl into the fabric of his uniform, but Ludwig didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Gilbert whisper.

“Don’t be sorry,” Ludwig mumbled back, resting his cheek gently against Gilbert’s soft hair. “Just don’t...do it again. I worry enough about you. If you make me worry any more it’s going to adversely affect my health.”

Slowly Gilbert lifted himself up and smiled, letting his arms drop. He smiled ever so slightly. “It already does though,” he said with a weak laugh, glancing away. “You mean...a lot to me too, Ludwig. You’re the only one I really trust. The only one I have ever really trusted...at least since my father died.”

“Well at least you have good taste in the people you trust.” Ludwig stood up then. As much as he kind of enjoyed sitting on a busted couch in front of a table full of cocaine in an abandoned warehouse, they needed to get going. He offered his hand to Gilbert. “Come with me, then, if you trust me,” he said simply. “I will never force you to stay with me, or to play Quidditch on my team, or do anything. I offer you a choice. You can stay in this room, and continue being Gilbert, the homeless boy with a shitty broomstick who’s fighting tooth and nail to only get by. Or you can come with me, and be Gilbert, the professional Quidditch player who...still has a shitty broomstick, but is an inspiration to us all and lives with me in my home. What will it be?”

Gilbert reached up and took Ludwig’s hand firmly with a grin, standing up immediately. “You’ve got me for life, Captain,” he said, not releasing Ludwig’s hand. “Let’s go. We have a match to win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited to finish this chapter! It turned out longer than expected (as it usually does) but I hope you like it. I hope I was able to articulate Gilbert & Ludwig's thoughts and feelings well enough.
> 
> Also for those interested, I made a short playlist on 8track.com of the Dynamo series, just some songs that inspire me that I listen to while I write. It's called "Defying Gravity": http://8tracks.com/germanbrothers/defying-gravity-a-dynamo-playlist
> 
> This chapter was especially inspired by "Shake It Out" by Florence & The Machine.
> 
> EXTRA!
> 
> The team filed out of the warehouse to head back to the pitch just in time for the match to begin. Max led the way, holding the condom balloon penguin that Frederick had hand-crafted and given to him (that Max had already affectionately named Frederick II), followed by Johann (struggling in vain to get black spray paint off of his hands), Kurstin, Gilbert, Wolfgang, and then Frederick and Ludwig taking up the rear.
> 
> “You know,” Frederick said as they descended the staircase. “I know it seems like I wasn’t really paying attention back there, but I was listening.” He looked over at his captain and put a hand on his shoulder. “What you said back there? It was really, hmm…”
> 
> “Yeah?” Ludwig raised an eyebrow.
> 
> “It was really gay.” Frederick nodded in satisfaction. “Inspirational and uplifting, but also really, /really/ gay.”


	10. Chapter 10

The team arrived back on the pitch just in time to line up and march out to the sound of hundreds of cheering fans. Ludwig and Gilbert, the Captain and Keeper respectively were first, followed by Gilbert and Max, then Kurstin and Wolfgang taking up the rear. Before they walked out, Ludwig glanced next to him at Gilbert and offered a small smile.

"You alright?" he asked quietly.

Gilbert looked at him and squeezed his broomstick tightly, grinning. "Yes," he said. His eyes were still a little bit red and Ludwig could tell that he was tired, however his smile was genuine. "We're going to win."

"You have to make sure we do," Ludwig said.

"Not just me," Gilbert countered. "We're a team. We all have to."

Ludwig smiled ever so slightly at that. "You're right," he said. "We'll do it."

The team name was announced and that was their prompting to go out. Johann wished them luck and hung back, no doubt with a hurt look on his face. It was difficult for him to sit this game out. Johann, perhaps more than any other player on the team, lived for the games. He genuinely loved Quidditch, and being in the air, and competition. It irritated Ludwig that, even though it was Ludwig who technically broke the rules, Johann was punished for it.

Well, there wasn't much to be done now. The team had practiced long and hard, and they had a strategy in place that, if successful, would give them a shot. That's all they needed. It was an uphill climb and everybody knew that.

"...Due to the controversy over the last match against Soltau, the Berlin Badgers are barred from having their Seeker on the pitch! It's all up to Marcel Klein, Seeker of the Heidelberg Harriers, to catch the Snitch and end the game…"

Ludwig heard the announcer layout the rules for this special game. Despite the controversy, he could hear from the crowds that the stands were packed with Badger supporters. He glanced into the stands and saw several with banners proclaiming their adoration to Gilbert, including a tightly-packed group of Gilbert's classmates, who had made their own banners and shouted and waved at him. That was at least promising. Perhaps they wouldn't lose their sponsorships, even if they lost this game-

No. There would be no 'losing' this game. That was, simply, not an option.

The balls were released and up in the air the players went. The whistle blew, and the match had begun.

The Badgers had a very simple beginning strategy - Max and Ludwig were to funnel all of their efforts on taking out the Harriers' Keeper. After the Keeper was eliminated, it would be easy for Frederick, Wolfgang, and Kurstin to score as many points as possible without any hindrance. It was their job of course to not only score as often as they could, but avoid the Beaters who would be trying to knock them off the field. In response, Ludwig and Max would work on also eliminating the Beaters from the pitch.

The less Harriers on the field, the better. If Ludwig could have it his way, he would only allow the Seeker to perform, and score after his Badgers had scored over 160 points.

As instructed, Max and Ludwig immediately went about finding the Bludgers in the field and swinging them aggressively towards the Heidelberg Keeper. He was tricky, however, and avoided any attacks, until twenty minutes in.

Frederick and Max had formed their own strategy in the air - Frederick threw a Quaffle towards the goal as bait and, as the Keeper reached for it, Max delivered a Bludger his way. It smashed the Keeper's jaw, he hit the edge of the goalpost in the collision, and was out of the match.

"And the Harriers have lost their Keeper! What a play on the part of brothers Max and Frederick Kemper of Berlin…"

Ludwig passed a nod of approval to the brothers who were high-fiving each other in the air, and now, phase one was complete. The attention was turned to Heidelberg's three Chasers.

Without an opposing Keeper, scoring became significantly easier. The score at the end of two hours was 110 for Berlin, and 40 for Heidelberg. Still, despite the fact that Berlin was ahead, they were not making the grounds they needed to in order to win. The Chasers were quick and clever, and kept Gilbert busy, to say the least. He had begun to take every shot with his own body, taking Quaffles squarely in the chest, shins, and even his face at one point, earning him a bloody nose that he had no choice but to ignore.

Gilbert is capable, Ludwig told himself as he knocked a Bludger from colliding into Kurstin. He doesn't need help or worry.

Six hours went by before Ludwig even realized it. The score was 280 to 190. Berlin was winning, vastly, however those points meant nothing if Heidelberg caught the Snitch at this point.

Ludwig was keenly aware of the abuse that Gilbert was taking, as the last hour of play he had let more goals slip through him than his norm, and finally he knew he had to call a time-out when a Bludger hit Frederick near him, striking his temple. Frederick crumpled off his broom and hit the ground.

Max was already on the way to the ground before Ludwig even called the time out. Everyone was grounded.

Medics had already taken Frederick aside and looked him over. "He's alright," one of them said, mostly to Max who looked the most terrified. "Just unconscious. We'll get some ice on it and do some other checks to make sure there isn't any brain damage-"

"Brain damage-" Max choked.

"To make sure there ISN'T brain damage. But he's out for the match, even if he comes-to."

While the medic was trying to comfort Max, Ludwig turned his attention to Gilbert, who stood with one hand holding his broom, and the other hand pulling his sleeve over his nose. "Is it still bleeding?" he asked.

"Not as much as before," Gilbert said. "It stops and starts...being up in the air doesn't help, either."

"Tilt your head back, I'll get someone to stop it shortly," Ludwig said. He went off and soon enough found another medic. With a flick of his wand, Gilbert's nose was corrected and the bleeding stopped. "How are you otherwise?"

"Bruised, a bit tired, but otherwise fine," Gilbert said with a small smile. "Tomorrow's going to be a bitch, though."

Ludwig offered a light smile and patted his shoulder - lightly. "Take a toilet break and get something to eat. You're starting to slip, we can't have that. It's your first...well, big game, really. But it's not over yet."

Johann was making himself useful and providing the team with drinks and some energy-boosting spells. This wasn't Ludwig's longest match - not by a long shot - but it was certainly his most difficult.

"We have a good team," Kurstin said, offering Ludwig a cup of water. "I'm pleasantly surprised we've done as well as we have."

Ludwig glaned at her, taking a long drink. "Well our Keeper is bloody and bruised and we just lost our first Chaser, so-"

"But we still have a chance," she said. "Just a few more points we need to score in order to win when they catch the Snitch."

'Just a few' was an understatement. "Sixty," the Captain gruffed. "We need sixty. That's still a climb, especially without a Chaser."

"We scored eighty in our first hour," Kurstin pointed out, finishing her drink. "Don't count us out just yet."

Ludwig glanced over at his team. Max was kneeling next to Frederick, fretting over him as if it was the first time he had been knocked out during a game (it most certainly wasn't). Wolfgang and Kurstin were consulting with each other, no doubt strategizing. Gilbert was off in the corner, drinking a cup of coffee and stretching his body out..

"I do have faith," he murmured to nobody in particular.

After half an hour they returned to the pitch, this time without both a Seeker and a Chaser. It was difficult to pry Max away from his brother but Ludwig resolved him to turn that worry into determination and to beat the shit out of the Chaser who had knocked off Frederick (legally, of course). It was just the five of them now, but with the loss of Frederick came the rise in team morale. They would win. They had to win. Gilbert vowed not to let a single Quaffle through his hoops.

Up in the air they went, and the game resumed. Indeed the team seemed to benefit from their short break. Max was as ruthless as ever, seeming bound and determined to completely immobilize the Harriers. Kurstin and Wolfgang worked strongly together to score even more goals, and Gilbert was not letting his worn body from stopping pitches. In two hours not a single Quaffle went through his grasp.

Two hours turned into four. It was into the tenth hour of the game, and while the evening had just set in and the lights turned on, the crowd was still as strong as ever and neither team showed any signs of slipping. Ludwig, after a while, had stopped paying attention to the scoring, both out of sheer determination to the task at hand, and out of an inability to continue to worry about the score and focus on his team and his duties as Beater. Perhaps, for the first time that entire season, he left his team to their duties completely and totally - he did not think about scoring because some part of him had settled his paranoia that they could never be good enough to actually succeed against all odds. They would win or they would lose, but either way they had performed remarkably.

Ten and a half hours into the game, the crowd suddenly went wild and he barely heard the announcer over the noise - "The Snitch! Heidelberg Seeker Marcel Klein has caught the Snitch!"

The entire field stopped and looked at the scoreboard. It was the first time in hours that Ludwig had even registered what any of the numbers meant, nonetheless done the math to figure out if they still had a chance or not.

The Berlin Badgers had scored a total of 530 points. The Heidelberg Harriers, with the 150 points from the Snitch, ended the match with 510.

They had won the game.

Ludwig almost fell over his broom when the scores were revealed. The crowd was so loud, he almost couldn't hear his own thoughts. Slowly he and the other players grounded and immediately he was greeted by Kurstin first, hugging him and nearly shrieking from joy.

"We did it! We did it! We won!" Kurstin was absolutely beside herself, almost crying. "I can't believe we won!"

Ludwig was in shock. How in God's name did they pull that off? With five players, against one of the most intense teams in the League... He glanced over next to him and saw Gilbert running at high speed, his broomstick held high in the air, a wild grin on his face.

"We won the match!" Gilbert shouted as he ran towards Ludwig and, in a moment of complete, unbridled joy, jumped into the air, wrapped his arms around Ludwig's neck, and kissed him hard on the lips.

The sudden and unannounced public display of affection shocked Ludwig so much, he could not respond. Instead he just had his arms around Gilbert to support him, but before he could even think to react, Gilbert had pulled away and was instead just laughing from joy.

He slowly glanced away, at the crowds, at his Wolfgang, who was supporting Kurstin on his back as she cheered wildly still (Max was already off the field; this was way too much noise and excitement for him), and then back to Gilbert. He took the Keeper's hand and lifted both of their arms into the air. They had done it. Against all odds, they had won.

"Thank you," he said to Gilbert, who looked up at him.

"For what?" Gilbert asked, still catching his breath from the excitement.

This part was difficult for Ludwig to articulate. What was he thankful to Gilbert for? He was just doing his job, really. A Keeper was supposed to keep the hoops, and that's what Gilbert did. Except well, there was just a few things different about this Keeper.

"Just...for...you, being...as...talented as you are," Ludwig finally said, even though that wasn't at all what he meant.

The boy grinned at him and squeezed Ludwig's hand. "Well thank you too! For being you!"

Of course Ludwig was instantly embarrassed and soon exited the field after sharing the customary post-game handshake with the opposing team.

Though the team usually had drinks at their usual pub after a match, the team unanimously agreed that they were all way too exhausted to enjoy any fanfare that night. It was late, and after ten and a half hours of playing at their maximum, and all everybody wanted to do was sleep. Even Johann, who was grounded the entire match, had worried and fretted himself into exhaustion. So, after posing for only a few photographs for the press, Max and Kurstin went to the hospital to be with Frederick, whilst the rest of the team went home.

When Ludwig and Gilbert arrived back at the house, both had calmed down from their excitement. Things between them were quiet and almost awkward.

"Ludwig," Gilbert said quietly as he took his leather padding off and inspected his bruises underneath - some of them already looked quite nasty after taking several direct hits. "I'm sorry if, uh, I was a bit forward back there on the pitch."

The Beater glanced back at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Well I didn't mean to, you know, jump on you like that and kiss you. I guess I just got very excited and lost control of myself. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Ludwig remembered that moment and was indeed uncomfortable. But only for a moment - in the moment he wasn't exactly thinking about the deeper implications of it. "It's fine," he said finally with a smile. "I understand. Go to sleep, Gilbert." He put one gentle hand on the boy's shoulder before they went off to their respective rooms. Ludwig was still reeling from winning the game, and worried about Frederick and Gilbert and his entire team practically, just because it was Ludwig and that was what he just did, before finally his exhaustion caught up with him and he fell sound asleep.

***

The next morning Ludwig slept in against his will. There was no practice that day, Sunday, anyways. The team usually used it to rest and relax, and for Gilbert to catch up with his homework. He was stiff and sore from the match before, but when he went into the kitchen and saw Gilbert digging through the refrigerator to find things to eat and noticed him practically hobbling along, he realized that his own sore limbs might not have been that bad.

"You alright?" he asked as he watched Gilbert struggle slightly to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Yeah," Gilbert smiled at him. "Just sore but that's alright. Any spell to get rid of that?" he asked sheepishly.

Ludwig smiled at him. "I'm pretty sure there's something out there, but the best thing is just rest. Not everything can be solved with magic."

"I heard from Kurstin." Gilbert began to pour Ludwig coffee as well. "She said to come to the hospital - Frederick came-to and he's fine. So she thought he might enjoy our company.

"Sounds good, we'll go after breakfast."

The two quickly apparated to the hospital so they could avoid the press who were still hot to talk to them. Once inside and in Frederick's hospital room, they were greeted with a barrage of flowers and stuffed toys and chocolates and candies from Frederick's army of admirers. Sitting next to him was Max, holding his hand tightly, and Kurstin had just come in from a side room with a glass of water in her hand, placing it next to on the table next to Frederick's bed.

"Gilbert! I heard you kicked ass and took names!" Frederick said happily, ushering the young keeper to his bedside. "You gotta tell me how awesome you were!"

Frederick and Gilbert chatted away like old friends and Ludwig stayed near the door, watching fondly. They could not stay long because Gilbert did have homework that he needed to finish - apparently, game-changing Quidditch matches did not count for homework extensions.

Kurstin came up next to him, a cup of coffee in her hand. She sipped at it idly, watching Ludwig for a moment. "You know," she started, "you should come over to my place sometime. We'll have a chat about...things."

"Things?" Ludwig asked, glancing at her. "What things?"

She raised an eyebrow and gave a sidelong glance at Gilbert before looking back at him. Ludwig's perplexed looked persisted and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "When you figure that out, come over to my place and we'll have a chat."

Ludwig did not understand so he didn't think about it too much, and after an hour or two visit with Frederick, they both left so Ludwig could rest and so Gilbert could finish his homework. He was satisfied enough; Frederick was coherent and it was only a small concussion; a little bit of magic, rest, and probably enough chocolates to start a business would get Frederick back on his feet in time for the next practice, scheduled the next day.

***

Monday morning, as Gilbert got ready to go to school, Ludwig received word via owl that their practice pitch was being renovated with new sponsor money. So, the practice would take place in Potsdam after receiving permission from the Potsdam Princes to use their pitch. Because of this, he promised to pick up Gilbert after school and take him there himself. Gilbert ended school at noon on Mondays, so on that day the team practiced in the afternoons.

He spent the day mostly making statements and a few interviews for the newspapers and then, when Gilbert's classes were done, he waited outside of Charlottenburg for his Keeper to emerge.

There was the usual crowd leaving at the same time and a few minglers, but after several minutes, Gilbert was nowhere to be seen. This was mildly irritating, since Ludwig didn't have all day to wait around - especially on a day when Gilbert knew they had to take a few extra minutes to get to practice. You'd think he'd had learned the meaning of promptness after living so long with Ludwig. However, he supposed some things never changed.

Two girls, sisters they looked like, came out with each other, discussing a few things. When they saw Ludwig, they smiled shyly at him. "We were at the match - you were amazing."

"Thank you," Ludwig nodded at them. "Have either of you seen Gilbert? He...might have class with you."

"Oh, we saw one of our lecturers speaking with him, said he had to show him something in another room. But he said it would only take a second. He'll be out soon, if he isn't already." The two girls left, and Ludwig resumed waiting.

Another five minutes passed and Ludwig's patience had ended. He went into Charlottenburg himself, descending to the magical corridors underneath the palace. He passed numerous empty chambers that served as classrooms and soon came upon two lecturers speaking to each other in the hallway.

"Excuse me," Ludwig approached them, trying his best not to seem too rude or impatient. It was difficult though when he was now almost certain they would be late. "Have you two seen Gilbert, my Keeper? He may be one of your students."

One of the lecturers nodded immediately. "I had to see him after class to discuss an upcoming assignment at my office," he said. "But that was...fifteen minutes ago. I dismissed him, I haven't seen him."

Ludwig stared at him for several seconds before taking a deep, long breath. "...Right." So Gilbert was probably distracted somewhere else. God damn it. "Where is your office?"

The man's office was deep within the corridors underneath Charlottenburg and Ludwig had almost made it there on his own when, whilst on his way, he heard a voice coming from another room. He heard a loud, deep voice that sounded somehow threatening.

Approaching with caution, his wand out in his hand and tentatively ready for action, Ludwig peered inside.

It was an empty room save for a few random tables and chairs and some other furniture, but inside were two other figures. One was Gilbert, he recognized immediately. His back was facing the door, but Ludwig could see he was in an incredibly defensive position, his arm extended with his wand out in front of him with pale, shaking fingers. Though Ludwig could not see his face, he could feel the sheer terror that radiated from his body.

His wand was pointed at someone. A tall man in a pressed, grey military uniform slowly approached Gilbert, a gun in his hand and pointed right between Gilbert's eyes.

Ludwig's first thought was not why there was a Stasi officer underneath Charlottenburg. His first thought went to that gun in his hand, finger on the trigger, ready to take Gilbert's life. Gilbert probably didn't even know any offensive spells to defend himself with - he was probably just trying to be as intimidating as possible, but that was completely useless against a man with a gun ready to fire.

The man looked like he was right in the middle of saying something when his eyes locked with Ludwig's. Immediately his face started to change - eyes turned red, brunette hair underneath his cap started to lighten, and Ludwig saw just past his shoulder an open wardrobe. Then it clicked exactly what was happening.

That was no Stasi Officer. That was a Boggart.

Ludwig ran forward and grabbed Gilbert around the torso, pinning his arms to his side and swung them around so Gilbert would no longer be facing the threat. He then turned his face around, facing the thing that was now starting to look more and more like Gilbert, without life or color in his face - it was confused, faced with both Ludwig and Gilbert's fears, but Ludwig did not let it. "Riddikulus!" Ludwig shouted.

The figure's grey uniform instead turned into a Flamenco dress and, with a few more casts, pushed the being back into its wardrobe, the door shutting with a loud bang. The entire time, Ludwig did not remove one arm from around Gilbert, and kept the boy close against him.

Once the Boggart was gone, Ludwig turned his attention back to Gilbert, who was still pale, shaking, and terrified. Ludwig realized that he probably had no idea what a Boggart was, and probably assumed that there was indeed a Stasi officer hiding in a wardrobe, ready to jump out and kill him.

"Gilbert," Ludwig whispered. "It's me, it's Ludwig."

"W-w-what, I-what…" Gilbert could not even form a coherent sentence. His eyes were wide, hands still shaking so hard he could not continue to hold his wand, and it clattered to the ground, forgotten.

Ludwig slowly lowered him so they were both kneeling on the floor and he moved to face Gilbert, holding him close. Just like only the morning before in the warehouse, Gilbert clung to him and buried his face into the man's shoulder.

"That wasn't...that was a Boggart," Ludwig said, gently petting Gilbert's hair. "That wasn't the Stasi. He wasn't going to kill you. Boggarts are creatures that...feed off your worst fear and take the form of it," he explained.

Ludwig glanced over at the wardrobe, now still and quiet, and his only questions were why on earth there was a Boggart in this place to begin with, and what were the circumstances that led to Gilbert alone in an empty room with one. He would have to ask questions and speak to the administrators about this as soon as Gilbert was in good shape.

The boy slowly leaned back and looked up at Ludwig, a cautiously perplexed look on his face. "It wasn't...real?"

"No," Ludwig said quietly. "It turned into the Stasi with a gun because...that's what you're afraid of the most," he said. It made sense, considering what had happened to his family. How many years had Gilbert hid out, afraid the same officers who had killed his father and taken his mother would come for him next? Even with East Germany gone and with it, its oppressive Secret Police force, there was still that lingering fear.

"H-h-he kept saying that I was alone now and nobody would come for me, and that it was my fault that-"

Ludwig silenced him by putting his fingers over Gilbert's lips. "It's not real. None of it was real. Just magic, that's all it was, dark magic that's meant to intimidate and frighten you. But it's not real. I'm here, and you're safe, and nothing will come for you."

Gilbert nodded slowly and gulped, closing his eyes to calm himself down. "I'll be okay," he whispered, and Ludwig could tell it was mostly to himself. Then, in just a moment, he leaned forward and hugged Ludwig tight again.

Automatically, Ludwig hugged him back and kept him close. He glanced over at the wardrobe again, thinking for several moments. The Boggart had begun to change shape when he saw Ludwig, but what was he turning into?

The Stasi officer was tall, with brown eyes, dark hair, and sharp features. However when they changed, the man's hair got lighter, eyes turned red, his form slimmed and his face took on a younger appearance -

Gilbert?

But there was something different. It was not just 'Gilbert'. The red eyes did not hold any sparkle, any life, and his face was without any colour in it at all. Even the angry, harsh expression of the Stasi officer disappeared and instead there was...nothing at all.

Ludwig's eyes widened when he himself realized what the Boggart had read off of him and he held Gilbert even closer to him. Blue eyes darted down to Gilbert in his arms and he took a deep, long breath.

He would definitely need to come over to Kurstin's place to have a chat about… 'things'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those who do not know, the Stasi was the East German Secret Police - kind of like the SS and the KGB of the GDR. Their main duties were spying on the GDR population fighting any opposition against the GDR, and partaking in the psychological and physical destruction of any dissenters. It was considered one of the most effective intelligence agencies during the Cold War.
> 
> On a brighter note, this chapter was originally going to be a bit different; I was intending for the Quidditch match to last several days, with Johann serving as a sub while the other members slept, however narrating a Quidditch match is so difficult, so I ended it short. I hope you still enjoy!
> 
> Ludwig is slowly realizing things about himself...after everybody else has already realized it, it seems. The next chapter will be his lovely chat with Kurstin and then...some 'things' ;D


	11. Chapter 11

Ludwig insisted on carrying Gilbert. After the boy had gotten his wits back, he had insisted that he was fine, but in a competition of 'insistence', Ludwig would always win. So the Beater carried his Keeper out of Charlottenburg Palace on his back piggy-back style, with Gilbert's arms draped around his shoulders, and Ludwig's large hands holding onto his thighs firmly while Gilbert leaned against him, explaining how he encountered the Boggart.

"I got lost after my lecturer spoke to me about a few things," he said with a small sigh. "And I passed that room...I heard a rattle and when I looked in, I saw the wardrobe door was shaking and rattling. I thought maybe a cat, or a bird had gotten in there somehow, so I went in to open it and...well...it wasn't anything like that."

Ludwig grunted. "First rule of immersing yourself in the magical world - for every wonderful, miraculous thing that's out there for wizards and witches to see, there is also a dark, deadly thing that will just as happily suck all of the joy and hope from your life. If you are suspicious of something, you must proceed with caution, or at least get someone who is skilled in magic to assist you."

"...I wish I had my broomstick," Gilbert mumbled lamely, his chin resting on one of Ludwig's shoulders.

"Why?"

"Because I would have beaten the shit out of him...it. It. Whatever it was. I would have turned it into a bloody pulp on the floor."

Ludwig snorted. "You know, you can't go through life beating the shit out of what you're afraid of."

"Says the one who, literally, goes through life beating the shit out of things."

"Hey. That is in a controlled environment. And I do that because I am a qualified to do it. You, however, are not." Ludwig vaguely wondered what would happen if one did indeed attack a Boggart physically. It was uncommon, but not unheard of, to hear of Muggles who had encountered them (hence the myths and stories of monsters in closets and under beds) - what if one of them had a weapon on them? Ludwig realized that he had never learned how they died or how they could possibly die. If Gilbert had indeed attacked the Boggart, would he, as the Stasi officer, had fired his weapon? Was it even capable of doing that? How deep was a Boggart's illusion? Was Gilbert afraid of the Stasi, or was he afraid of being killed by the Stasi? Is that why the gun was present and aimed at Gilbert?

These thoughts plagued him and he realized how lucky he was to have come in on Gilbert at the right time. Depending on just how invested in its illusion the Boggart was…

"Ludwig." Gilbert gently nudged him. "You okay? You seem like you're thinking a lot."

"Just fine," Ludwig said automatically, banishing any more thoughts about the matter. "We're using Port Key to get there."

"What's a Port Key?"

As Gilbert said this, they left Charlottenburg Palace and Ludwig continued to carry the boy across the lawn and down the street. "It's one of many ways that wizards use to get around."

"Don't you all use bikes or cars?" Gilbert asked with a huff, unclasping his hands to rest limply on Ludwig's shoulders.

"Only when we want to blend in. But otherwise, it's inefficient."

Down the street from Charlottenburg was a street lined with luxury townhomes and, nestled in between two of them was a small cafe. Only when they reached one of the tables and chairs on the patio outside of the establishment did Ludwig set Gilbert down on his feet. On top of one of the circular metal chairs was a pair of innocuous salt and pepper shakers. "You take salt," Ludwig instructed, "and I take pepper."

"Then what?"

"They will transport us to the practice pitch in Potsdam."

Gilbert frowned a bit and looked down at the two shakers. "What about the salt and pepper?"

Ludwig was already reaching for the pepper shaker "What do you mean?"

"Won't we be stealing them?"

"Just take the damn salt shaker." Ludwig rolled his eyes. Leave it to Gilbert to fret over salt and pepper.

He himself did not grasp the portkey pepper until Gilbert already had and disappeared where he stood. When he arrived in the Potsdam Princes' locker room, he found Gilbert there as well, looking slightly bewildered. "Don't act surprised," Ludwig said, clapping him on the shoulder and leading him out to the actual field. "You're hardly a rookie anymore."

The Badgers were hard at work at drills. Max was always a good substitute coach, and was leading the Chasers on their drills while Johann did his own exercises as a Seeker. When the team saw Ludwig and Gilbert approach, however, immediately they grounded themselves and approached. Frederick was not with them - he did not have clearance from the doctor to be up in the air, however he would be alright in the next few days and would be at their next match.

"You're late!" Kurstins aid with a grin. "We were about to send the police out on you. File a report for a missing person!"

"Very funny." Ludwig rolled his eyes. They were only about forty five minutes late to practice - but that was still later than Ludwig had ever been. "We were just held up with a few things. Everything is fine." He didn't feel like explaining the situation, and he wasn't sure if Gilbert wanted his dirty laundry aired out, anyways. That was his business to disclose. "Now, I didn't say you all could stop your drills. Get back on your brooms. We did very well last game, but that doesn't mean that we can slack off. The bar is raised even higher now, and we have to rise to meet it."

They practiced until the sun went down. It was October, so the days were getting shorter and the chill of the air was becoming harder to ignore up in the air, even though they kept their bodies moving. Ludwig noticed that the atmosphere of the team was slightly off - even though Johann worked even harder than usual, probably to make up for his absence from the last match, and Kurstin worked seamlessly with Wolfgang to perfect their maneuvers with each other. Max was off, though was to be expected. His right hand was always Frederick, and without him Max just never seemed to be at his full potential. But nonetheless he worked hard with his captain and fellow Beater.

Gilbert as well, was not at his fullest, and Ludwig was the only one who knew why - he was probably the only one who even noticed. Ludwig knew every subtle movement that his Keeper made when he was in game mode. How he was dominant in his left hand, and the way his wrist flicked just after tossing a Quaffle into play, and when he wet his lips with his tongue as he scanned the field, muttering whatever mathematical calculations were running through his mind.

Today Ludwig could tell that Gilbert's calculations were off. He was slipping more with his left hand than usual, and he took more risks than usual. But he let him slide - only for today. Ludwig could only imagine how hard he was trying to concentrate after such a scare earlier in the day.

Ludwig himself, was having trouble concentrating at times. That damn Boggart kept pressing at his mind. Seeing Gilbert frightened and vulnerable like that -

A few times, it was a bludger to the knee or the arm that reminded him to get his head back in the game. Up in the air, with dangerous semi-sentient weapons flying the air, was no time to reflect on personal feelings and emotions. That had no room in Quidditch.

After practice, when he had finished changing and just before everyone departed for the night, he approached Kurstin, who was buttoning up her jacket to leave.

"Kurstin," he greeted, rather gruffly, and mentally winced when he saw the alarm in her eyes.

"What is it, Captain?"

"Are you doing anything tonight?"

He watched the alarm in her eyes only grow, with confusion added into that. "No...is something the matter?"

Ludwig cleared his throat, trying the best way to phrase what he needed to say. "Would I be able to...chat with you for a bit at your place?" He shot a glance in Gilbert's direction, who was busy polishing his Dynamo broomstick.

Kurstin slowly followed his gaze with confusion, and it took a few moments before realization overcame her features. "O-oh! Oh. Yes. Absolutely." She smiled and winked. "Come over any time. I'll prepare tea."

Then she walked off, very proud of herself, and Ludwig just exhaled a long breath. Perhaps this was a mistake. He could only hope that Kurstin had even the vaguest concept of "confidentiality"...maybe he was better off just bottling up this conversation.

They all went home after that, and Gilbert immediately settled in on the dining room table to begin doing homework.

"You like doing homework, huh?" Ludwig asked him, seeing him already nose-deep in his 'Introduction to Spellcasting' book.

"Oh yeah," Gilbert grinned at him. "Imagine it, Ludwig. Kids dream of levitating things and casting magic spells and read books and stories about wizards and such...then finding out it's actually real? I don't' want to take advantage of that. This is all way too fascinating." He paused then, tapping the end of his quill against the table. "I guess you wouldn't understand, if you've been raised around it."

Ludwig raised an eyebrow at that. "Hey now," he said slowly, "that isn't exactly the case."

His Keeper slowly shifted in his seat and turned to look at him with a raised brow. "Explain."

"You and I have a bit more in common than you think," Ludwig explained. He realized just how closed-off to Gilbert he had been since they had met; Gilbert had no idea of his origin. Not that it was anything exciting or noteworthy, and that was probably why he had never mentioned anything. Not like Gilbert had asked, either.

"Like you, I come from a mixed family. My mother is a muggle, and my father is a wizard," he began.

Gilbert gasped, leaning forward in rapt attention. Homework was temporarily forgotten. "No way."

His attention made Ludwig smile just a little bit. "Yes way." He then continued his story. "Well my father is a wizard and my mother is a muggle. They met when they both worked for the government. My father worked of course with magic and my mother with muggles. They met at some...function of sorts, began to date, all of that."

"So when did your mother know about magic and wizards and stuff?" Gilbert asked.

"She never did," Ludwig said with a small sigh. "I suppose it was evident from the start that my mother would never accept such a thing - she is very religious. A dying breed, I know, but she is. Still is. My father, I suppose, just knew that it would be trouble if he told her, and undoubtedly the end of the relationship…but he loved her. He still does. So he gave up magic."

Gilbert gasped at that. "He gave that up? Everything?"

"Yes," Ludwig said with a nod. "He changed departments, moved in with her, changed his clothes and hung up his wand. He learned how to drive a car and live a life without magic."

"So when did she find out?" he asked, eyes wide.

Ludwig held up one finger to keep Gilbert's enthusiasm in check. "He dated her as a muggle. They got married, bought a house together in Bonn, and...I came along. I lived the first ten years of my life as a regular muggle boy. Odd things would happen to me every now and then - things would move, and once a window shattered when I got very angry at a schoolboy who was bullying a girl - but for the most part I had a 'normal 'muggle childhood,"

"What happened next?"

"When I turned ten years old, I received - like all magical children - a written invitation in the mail to attend magical education in Bavaria. It came through the post. At first, I didn't think much of it - I had no idea what magic was, so I threw it away, thinking it was a prank. The next day, another letter came. Again, in the trash. THen another one, but my mother saw it before I could. She opened it and showed it to my father -" Gilbert's eyes were as wide as saucers at this point, even though Ludwig himself did not think the story was that exciting, "-and that was when he explained everything. A ten...twelve year secret, undone just like that. He was expecting it, of course; he knew that I was magical after all. He showed her magic, and some of the magical world, and even took us both to a Quidditch match. I was floored by all of it; it was like some fantasy adventure had come to life before my eyes."

Gilbert nodded avidly in understanding. "What did your mother think?"

At this, Ludwig pursed his lips. "She...was not as enthusiastic, to say the least," he said slowly. "She did not like it. Any of it. Poor woman. It was so very overwhelming, that summer was. I think it was a mixture of the strangeness of it all, and her religion got to the best of her, and...well, when it came time for me to accept my invitation to the Academy, she said if I left, she would not support my magical endeavors. She was, to an extent, disowning me. "

"How could she demand that of a child?" Gilbert scoffed. "What did you say?"

Ludwig shrugged, offering his hands out. "I'm here, aren't I? I chose magic. I came home for Christmas, Easter, and Summer holidays, but magic was not allowed to be practiced or even discussed. I could not don my robes, or have my wand out. She had told the neighbors that I was accepted to a prestigious academy in Switzerland, one for gifted children. My father, however, relished in it. He was very proud of me, and still is. He goes to many of my matches - always alone, though. I think he felt somewhat liberated when I embraced my magical genes. My mother has not seen me play even once."

"So are they still like...together?"

The Captain rose to his feet, brushing off his knees. "I suppose so. Distantly, though. My mother took it very hard, learning that my father was something she had never known of. I'm not sure if they still love each other." He cleared his throat. "Now. I have to be off, to see Kurstin. I have to speak with her about something. The point of that was to say that I understand your enthusiasm for magic. I used to wake up early to do my homework."

He turned to leave, but Gilbert's voice behind him made him stop. "Thank you, Ludwig. You were talking to me and I realized that I didn't know a lot about you at all. So you should talk about yourself more, because I like hearing about it."

A nervous gulp and a stiff nod. "Of course, Gilbert. I'll see you later."

He left in a hurry.

***

Ludwig had forgotten it was October, and therefore Halloween season, until he approached Kurstin's ground-floor apartment. the windows, doors, patio, balcony, and even part of the lawn was completely covered in Halloween decorations. Plastic Jack-O-Lanterns, orange string lights, fake cobwebs and toy spiders, and other ghoulish decorations made Kurstin's corner of the building look like the entrance to a themed ride.

While many witches and wizards enjoyed Halloween (usually as an excuse to get drunk), Kurstin celebrated in excess. She had a very strange quirk - she loved witches. Not actual witches, she would always have to clarify, but "muggle" witches.

She loved the stereotypical ones; haggard old ladies dressed in black, pointed brimmed hats, with black cat companions flying their broomsticks over a full moon or cackling over a steaming cauldron, and also witches from the modern era that muggles saw every day - Kurstin had bought a television set just so she could almost obsessively watch Bewitched, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Kiki's Delivery Service, and whatever foolishness muggles decided to grace their world with.

Halloween was her holiday. Every October without fail, she would dress up as either the Wicked Witch of the West or the Good Witch of the East and attend children's Halloween parties, handing out candy and performing petty magic. Two years prior she had been fined by the Berlin government for being seen on Halloween night, flying on her broomstick through muggle neighborhoods and cackling loudly, tossing candy from a singing Jack-O-Lantern on the back of her broom.

He approached her door, a paper cut-out of the Wicked Witch of the West grinning back at him from her taped placement on the door, and knocked several times.

Kurstin answered after several minutes, grinning at him. "Good evening," she said, stepping aside to let him in.

Ludwig went inside, removed his shoes, and then looked around him as he headed to the living room. Kurstin had immediately ducked into the kitchen to make tea. Sure enough, as Ludwig was expecting, her house again was covered in paper and plastic Halloween decorations. "Have you ever thought about magical decorations?" Ludwig asked. Everything was stationary, bought from muggle shops and sales.

"Oh, it just isn't the same," he heard her call from the other room. "Muggle decorations just have a special...charm to them."

Ludwig approached the couch and saw a large black cat curled in the corner of one of the cushions. "Hello, Salem," he said. Kurstin had owned that cat since as long as he had known her, which was about five years now. The cat lifted his head and watched him silently with big, yellow eyes, before finding him sufficiently boring, and put his head back down to sleep.

Ludwig saw that there was a programme that was paused on the television. Just from the looks of it, it was some Halloween-themed show or film. "What did I interrupt?" he called to Kurstin.

"Hocus Pocus!" she announced, soon emerging from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. "It's a wonderful film, about these three witches who-"

"Alright, alright, I get it," Ludwig waved off the explanation with a sigh and accepted the tea.

Kurstin shooed Salem off of the couch and then sat down next to her captain, watching him intently. "So," she started, taking a sip of tea before setting the mug down. "Talk to me."

She wasn't exactly known for beating around the bush, and it made Ludwig wince. He supposed there would be no getting around the issue, at least not for long. "Something happened today, before practice," he began.

"Is that why you were late?"

Ludwig nodded, swallowing his nerves with a gulp of hot tea. He slowly explained the Boggart incident to her. "...I managed to get it back into the closet," he finished. "But he was terrified. He didn't realize that...the threat was not a real one. I eventually calmed him down but…"

"He seemed fine at practice," Kurstin said quietly.

"Did he?"

"A bit slow at first, but everyone was off their game. Max didn't have Frederick, Johann was still hung up over missing out on the last game, and you two were late...it was a good practice but, we were just all kind of off."

Ludwig took this in and nodded slowly. "I suppose he's gotten good at hiding his feelings…"

He saw Kurstin roll her eyes and look momentarily fed up. "Did the Boggart actually see you, Ludwig? Before it was back in the closet?"

"Yes…" Ludwig had a feeling he knew where this was going.

She scooted just a bit closer to him, watching him very intently. "And...what did it turn into?" Before Ludwig could react, she had leaned in very close to his face with an intense look. "And don't lie to me...you're terrible at it."

He sighed, resigned to his fate, and averted his eyes. "It started to turn into Gilbert," he mumbled. "But it was weird, it wasn't like I know Gilbert. Lifeless eyes and grey skin and just a horrible look…" Ludwig shuddered. He didn't like to reflect on it.

"Ah, so basically Gilbert's lifeless body." she nodded. "Sounds about right...you wouldn't be afraid of spiders or heights, no, but of Gilbert's tragic demise...how macabre."

Ludwig sighed. "Terrible?"

"In the most dramatic way," she added, looking excited for a moment. "You would make a wonderful Addams."

"A what?"

"Nevermind." She turned her head to stare at the far wall for a moment, sipping at her tea in contemplation. "How was he after practice? When you two got home?"

"Fine," Ludwig shrugged. "He got to work on his homework and we chatted for a bit about my parents. He was very excited about the whole story of my upbringing and discovery of magic."

She nodded. "Ludwig, I really don't think it was him that was affected by that Boggart. I mean, after he realized he was safe - with you, might I add - he seemed fine. At practice he was fine, at home, he's fine. I mean that's Gilbert, at least from what I know of him, things bounce off very quickly." Then she turned to him. "You, on the other hand...I have known you for a lot longer, and I knew, the moment you announced that Gilbert would live with you…" she smirked, "you were a lost cause."

"What does that mean?" Ludwig snapped.

Kurstin sighed, frustrated. "How do you feel about him?" she finally said.

That question made Ludwig uncomfortable. "I...care about him," he finally admitted.

That was not satisfactory enough for his Chaser, however. "Okay, but...how? 'Caring' comes in many different forms. There's like...me and Wolfgang, for example. He is a brother to me. And then, in a different form, you have...Max and Frederick."

"But Max and Frederick are actually brothers."

Kurstin simply gave him a look. "...Again, in a different form, you have Max and Frederick."

Ludwig thought this over a few moments, not quite following, but shook it off. "I'm not quite sure, honestly."

"You are though," Kurstin said impatiently. "Ludwig your biggest fear - above any childhood nightmare, above any Quidditch end-game result, or anything - is losing Gilbert. Think about how profound that is."

He did. It certainly was profound. And in nearly every way Kurstin was right. He knew how he felt about Gilbert. That didn't make things any easier, however. "It wouldn't work, at all. One, we're on the same team. Two, we're both males. Those two points right there are a PR nightmare in the making. Three, he's so very young, he's seventeen, and I am twenty five, that is just very reckless, and four, who knows how he feels-"

"Please!" Kurstin scoffed. "I know how he feels. We all do. He adores you, Ludwig. You are the sparkle in his eye and the spring in his step! He came to you at the end of his rope - he said this himself, remember - as a last, desperate attempt to be noticed, validated, and be saved, and you did. You have given him a home, an education, an income, and a career that men and women would die for. You are his entire world, Ludwig. That is not going to change."

He shifted uncomfortably, eventually putting his down his half-finished mug of tea. "I suppose. So you're telling me...I should say something?"

"That's what you came to hear, right?"

Maybe that was what he needed to hear. That it wasn't all in his head. That it wasn't strange or wrong, that maybe he just needed a little push.

Kurstin grinned and stood up, offering her hand to him. Ludwig took it and stood up. "Now, Ludwig," Kurstin put her hands on his shoulders. "Homework for you."

"Kurstin, please-"

"Homework!" She turned him around and began to march him towards the door. "You ask him to dinner."

"But-"

"Dinner!" With that, Kurstin practically shoved him out the door. "A nice place! Suit and tie, reservations, four stars, everything! Take him, treat him right! Or I'll kick your ass. This time next week, I want all the details about your newly-awakened love life. Wear cologne!" Before Ludwig could protest or even get a word out, she had slammed the door shut. The Wicked Witch of the West stared back at him judgingly.

Ludwig sighed, slumping his shoulders. He had no idea how that had gone. A success? In some ways. But in other ways...well, he might have been further than when he started. So, after hearing the faint noise of the television having resumed its programme, Ludwig slowly trudged home.

When he arrived, it was dark, and upon entering the house he noticed that Gilbert had fallen asleep on his homework (again). Fortunately, it appeared to be finished. His arms were folded on the table over an open textbook and his head rested in them. He came up behind the boy and shook his head affectionately when he saw the essay that Gilbert had been working on - halfway through he saw that Gilbert was having trouble with the ink on his quill and had switched to ballpoint pen.

Slowly, Ludwig reached out and gently pet Gilbert's hair. It was soft and smooth, and only a bit longer than when they had first met. He supposed that Gilbert had gotten good at trimming it himself. He let go before things could get too creepy and instead nudged his shoulder, whispering his name. It took a few tries, but he finally got Gilbert to lift his head up.

"Wha?" he muttered sleepily.

"Come on," Ludwig nudged his shoulder once more. "Let's get you to bed. You had a big day today."

Gilbert stood up sleepily and fumbled to put his books and papers away before going off with Ludwig, yawning. He was dropped off in his bedroom, where Ludwig stood in the doorway and watched Gilbert get settled in. He contemplated saying anything for several moments, before finally opening his mouth just as Gilbert put his head on the pillow.

"Gilbert, do you, uh...want to go to dinner sometime this week or something?" He cringed internally. That sounded awful. What, was he fifteen again?

"Huh?" the boy perked his head up with a yawn. "Dinner together? Like make an evening of it?"

Ludwig shrugged. "Sure."

He watched Gilbert smile knowingly, contemplating for a moment before he nodded enthusiastically. "That would be nice, Ludwig. It's a date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I have not forgotten about our boys and our favourite Quidditch Team! I just have had a very busy life of late and have been fighting and uphill battle against such a terrible thing as 'motivation' ;) 
> 
> Next chapter...a date! Finally! How will it go? Will Ludwig at least get to first base? Will he confess his feelings? Who knows?!
> 
> I enjoyed fleshing out Ludwig's backstory and Kurstin's personal life int his one. I realized that I had never posted Ludwig's origins several chapters ago so it has been a bit of a challenge to somehow get him to open up and talk about his parents. I figured that this was the perfect time ;) Enjoy!


	12. Chapter 12

Johann and Max stood in front of Ludwig, sizing him up judgingly.

"I don't think your blacks match," Johann mused.

"Nonsense, the pants and suit came as a set. Of course they match," Max shot back. He stepped forward again and fixed Ludwig's tie for perhaps the umpteenth time that night.

It was date night, and that meant of course the entire team had somehow found out about it (Ludwig blamed Kurstin), and had volunteered to come over to Ludwig's home and 'help'. Johann and Max had Ludwig in his bedroom, preparing him, while Frederick and Kurstin gushed over Gilbert in his.

A fancy restaurant had been booked in the muggle side of town by Johann - this was so that Ludwig and Gilbert would not attract too much attention. Call it being discrete, or paranoia, the Quidditch Captain didn't particularly care. He didn't want photographs and rumours. He didn't want anybody knowing that there was inter-team dating. Ever. Even if it was twenty years down the road and the two of them had settled in with some form of domestic bliss and maybe they were some sort of married, and had some sort of children to take care of, or maybe just dogs, yes, dogs would definitely be nice until Gilbert matured a little bit more, and -

He really shouldn't be thinking that far ahead. Really, really shouldn't.

Max again reached forward to adjust his tie and Ludwig had to resist rolling his eyes. He instead swatted him away. "I look fine," he said. "I doubt Gilbert of all people are too terribly picky about what their-" he winced at the word in his mouth, "-date...wears."

"True. You could show up wearing nothing and he'd be fine with it, probably," Johann mused.

Max snorted and moved away. "I have a feeling he'd definitely be fine with it."

Ludwig felt his face turn red, but he really had no room to complain - he walked right into that one, after all. "Are we ready?"

"Splash of cologne, and you're set." Johann sprayed him a few times with cologne on his wrists and then turned him towards the door. "We're right on time."

Ludwig was pushed out the door into the hallway, where he faced Gilbert, who was being led out by Kurstin. The young man was wearing a pressed suit, with a navy-and-white polka dotted bow tie. His hair was combed back as well, which helped bring out his enthusiastic smile and his bright, cheerful eyes. Ludwig found himself smiling ever so slightly at the sight.

"That won't do," he heard Johann mutter behind him, and a moment later, Gilbert's bow tie turned red.

The bowtie's wearer didn't seem to notice, however Ludwig definitely did. He gave a look, then looked over at Johann, who seemed quite satisfied with himself.

Frederick emerged from the room and stood next to Gilbert, clapping his hand on the Keeper's shoulder. "Are we all rea-" he stopped when he noticed that Gilbert's bowtie had changed colours. Instantly he looked suspicious, eyes flashing to Johann.

Gilbert just noticed himself, looking a bit surprised, however Johann jumped to his own defense before anything could be said. "Excuse me, navy blue and black?"

"Red, with no complementary colours?" Frederick shot back. His wand was out, and Gilbert's bowtie was back to navy and white.

Ludwig rolled his eyes. He could see where this was going. So he parted from the company, grabbing Gilbert's arm and practically dragging him down the hall as he did so. "Come on, if we let them keep up their game, we'll be here all night," he mumbled.

Gilbert went along with him, watching as his bowtie change a variety of different colours as the two Quidditch players bickered behind him.

Ludwig ushered his roommate-turned-date down the hall, away from the gleeful stares of the rest of the team as Gilbert's bowtie turned a painful shade of mustard-yellow. Why did they have to be involved anyways?

'Didn't you say it yourself, Ludwig, that a team was like a family?' Kurstin had chided him. Damn it, he had never expected (nor wanted) his words of encouragement – said only to Gilbert when he was in distress, to boot – to be used against him.

Well, at least Gilbert didn't seem bothered by it all. Happy, even; waving goodbye to Frederick specifically, who gave him a thumbs-up in encouragement.

Johann had a motorcycle. It had been his father's, before he gave it to his son when Johann joined the team as congratulations.

The motorcycle sat, polished and fueled, in Ludwig's lawn. In order to avoid going to the restaurant by magic, Johann had lent it to Ludwig for the evening.

"Do you know how to get there?" Gilbert asked.

"Yes," Ludwig replied, staring down the motorcycle, as if daring it to make him look like a fool.

"…Do you know how to ride that?" Gilbert asked again.

"Yes," Ludwig glanced down at him. Johann had given him a brief lesson in motorcycle driving that very afternoon. Kind of.

Gilbert still seemed unsure. "Do you have a license?"

"No."

"What if we get pulled over?"

Ludwig was already starting towards the motorcycle. Two helmets hung on the handlebars, and the Beater took one for himself. He was quite disgruntled how it would mess up his slicked-back hair, but safety was always a priority, he reasoned. He still had to set a good example for Gilbert.

"Then I'll use magic and get us out of the situation."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"I'm pretty sure asking this many questions are illegal," Ludwig snapped, giving Gilbert a wary look. He slid on the motorcycle and scooted forward. "Get on behind me."

Gilbert put on his own helmet, grinning at his own wittiness, and climbed on behind Ludwig. He immediately wrapped his arms around Ludwig's waist, making the larger man tense for just a moment.

Right. Date. So date stuff was supposed to happen – including touching and being generally much closer than normal. Right. It was okay.

"Ready to be off?" Ludwig asked after relaxing.

"Yes! I'm starving!"

The truth was that Ludwig had no idea how to get to this restaurant. He also had no idea how to drive the motorcycle the way it should be driven. Johann had bewitched the vehicle to take them there automatically, and Ludwig's 'motorcycle lessons' included simply how to start, stop, and turn the vehicle. He didn't know how to keep a constant speed or even how to signal turning, since it would do all that automatically.

He didn't want to tell that to Gilbert, though. He wanted Gilbert to think that Ludwig was good at riding motorcycles, since he had heard Gilbert remark several weeks prior how cool motorcycles were.

Ludwig felt a bit foolish, resorting to cheap tricks to impress someone whom had already remarked several times how already impressed with Ludwig he was, however when he felt the enthusiasm radiating off of Gilbert's back, it put him at ease. This would not be so hard after all. Gilbert and Ludwig had spent lots of time together, after all. This was nothing new.

With that in mind, they soon left magical Berlin and travelled seamlessly into the world of muggle Berliners going about their daily lives.

The difference between magical and non-magical Berlin was at times staggering. During the time of East and West separation, the magical world in East Germany was completely shut down and abandoned. Residents, fearing inevitable suppression of their abilities, abandoned their homes, businesses, and schools in the East and fled to the West. Because the Berlin community at that time was very small and close-knit, this was an easy transition for most. Magical West Berlin expanded easily in order to accommodate this influx of witches and wizards, and its economy boomed.

By the time the Berlin Wall was erected in 1961, the magical world of East Germany was completely nonexistent. Wizards and Witches in the East had either emigrated to the West, abandoned their magical lives to avoid persecution, or, like Gilbert and his father, had grown up completely ignorant to magic. The only East German magical folk were the ones who worked to either actively suppress it from the population or worked in propaganda, convincing the outside world the exact opposite. Such propaganda gave way to "superior" East German magical products such as wands without cores, spellbooks of fake spells, potions concocted in basement meth labs, and a Quidditch Team with broomsticks that didn't fly.

After Reunification, magical Berliners easily moved into West Berlin's magical culture and routine, all too eager to claim the "privilege" of practicing West German magic.

Meanwhile, Ludwig noted, muggle Berlin still showed its Eastern culture despite having been "absorbed" by the West – Ampelmännchen still happily controlled pedestrian traffic, Trabi cars became a tourist attraction (the ones that still worked, of course), and abandoned Eastern factories and warehouses had turned into impromptu raves, dance parties, and obviously homes for homeless teenagers. Ludwig had to admit, that while magical Berlin was home to bars, nightclubs, business offices, and apartments just like its non-magical counterpart, it lacked the distinct history that lived in every citizen, building, and street of non-magical Berlin.

"Are you enjoying my Berlin?" Gilbert asked from behind his shoulder, a smile in his voice.

"Not sure what you're talking about," Ludwig responded automatically.

"I see you looking around, taking in the sights!" Gilbert laughed, but the sound was drowned out when they passed a loud, struggling Trabant on the street.

Before long, they arrived at their destination - nice, upscale restaurant that was away from the hustle of any main streets. The motorcycle came to a halt in the center of a parking space and became still. Gilbert let go and slid off the motorcycle. Ludwig followed suit, and almost immediately the Keeper slipped his arm around Ludwig's. The sudden movement made him stiffen for just a moment until he remembered – right. Date. That meant things like arm-holding. No big deal.

He escorted him into the restaurant. "I have a reservation for two. Beilschmidt."

"Of course, right this way." The host gathered their menus before glancing at Gilbert. "By the way – your bowtie is very beautiful."

Gilbert glanced down and both of them noticed at once that Gilbert's bowtie was now a pale steel-blue colour. This was unusual, as Ludwig could have sworn that it was not that colour when they left.

Its wearer seemed bewildered as well and shot him a look before shrugging and following their host to the table.

"This place is way too nice," Gilbert commented with a deep breath when they had been seated and given menus.

Ludwig glanced around before turning his attention to the food options. "Well, um, you deserve it, I suppose." He was trying to sound suave and cool, but he was absolutely sure it had turned out the exact opposite. Damn, how was Frederick able to make doing a thing like this his entire lifestyle? It was nerve-wracking and embarrassing, and the night had just begun.

He glanced over the top of his menu to see that Gilbert was nonetheless flattered, looking at him with bright eyes and a barely-suppressed grin. It put Ludwig more at ease; at least his date was easy to impress.

"You're sweet," Gilbert laughed.

"Not sweet, just honest." Bread was put on their table and Ludwig helped himself, taking the time to order still water and the institution's finest bottle of red wine. They could splurge, without worries – Gilbert deserved it, after all.

After several minutes, it was easy for Ludwig to forget that this was a special 'date'. Perhaps it was because he was accustomed to eating at fancy restaurants due to his upbringing and occupation, or perhaps it was because it was Gilbert, who almost always had a presence that made Ludwig relaxed, open, and at ease. He forgot about trying to 'impress' Gilbert, and even failed to notice Gilbert's bowtie, which continued to change colours throughout the evening.

Ludwig found himself actually enjoying himself. He had never noticed before how Gilbert sat straight and tall, with his shoulders back and chin high, or how Gilbert handled his silverware with surprising delicacy. Maybe he was putting on a show for Ludwig, but this all seemed so very natural for him. They had eaten together countless times before, but usually in some kind of hurry or whilst multitasking, and Ludwig's mind had always been on something other than his teammate's eating habits.

Gilbert still seemed so carefree and cheerful, even dressed in a pressed suit and gold bowtie, but there was a reservation in his every movement. Ludwig could now notice just exactly how still Gilbert could sit when he wanted to, how he sat on the very edge of his seat, as if constantly reading the safety of the atmosphere, ready to bolt if that atmosphere changed for the worse. He would continue talking though, as if this was all subconscious, most likely from years of living off the grid and on the edge.

He realized that Gilbert only seemed naïve and ignorant because the magical world was unknown to him – the safe, conventional magical world. However he recalled back to their second meeting, when Ludwig had to pull him away from breaking another boy's collarbone just for insulting his precious broomstick.

Beneath that cheerful demeanor, Ludwig was suddenly reminded of a damaged, offensive individual – one who was intimate with Stasi officers, who had seen his father die and his mother taken away and never to be seen again. Ludwig was reminded of that morning they found Gilbert at the warehouse, carelessly drawing through a table full of cocaine as if it were a material he had learned to use resourcefully every day beyond its intended use, and how Gilbert had, in many past conversations, had alluded to having been in prison, but for what reason he didn't know.

These sides were all Gilbert. One was endearing, the other terrifying, and together they made him –

"Fascinating."

Gilbert lifted his head sharply when he heard Ludwig speak, his mouth full of mashed potatoes. "What?" he mumbled before swallowing harshly.

Crap. Had Ludwig spoken that out loud?

"Nothing, nothing at all." Ludwig quickly ducked his head back in his food.

His date wasn't buying it. "Come on," Gilbert grinned, wiping off a bit of potatoes that had fallen onto his zebra-striped bowtie. "What's fascinating? You were looking right at me."

What a goddamn pretentious dick. Ludwig realized that another 'side' to Gilbert was one that existed only to annoy and embarrass him.

"Fascinating," Ludwig repeated with a heavy sigh. "You are, I mean. You're very interesting, and I have enjoyed getting to know you."

Gilbert smiled a sweet, embarrassed smile. "Well. I don't know where you got that from, but I think you're interesting as well."

"I am not interesting. I am absolutely boring, and to be honest I am proud of that."

"You are so interesting!" Gilbert leaned forward with a wide grin. "The big, brooding, mysterious Quidditch captain. You chose magic over family. A scary dark wizard has a hit out on you! Come on, that's so cool. I like learning about you, where you come from…you know, things like that. You're interesting when you think. I like to watch you."

He frowned at that. "That's a bit creepy, you know. And nobody has a hit out on me."

"Well not like THAT." Gilbert rolled his eyes. "I don't hover over your bed when you're asleep. I just notice your behaviours because I pay attention to them."

Ludwig gave him a wary look before shaking his head with a small chuckle. "I think it's time for the bill," he said, noticing that both of them had finished their food several minutes ago.

Without too much more time or conversation, Ludwig paid and they got up to leave. Gilbert followed along happily, like a lost puppy, and settled happily behind him again on the motorcycle. He slipped his arms around the larger man's waist, and when Ludwig looked down he saw that Gilbert had already removed his bowtie – which was black now – and clutched it in one hand.

The motorcycle sped off soon afterwards back to Ludwig's home. He became keenly aware of Gilbert's cheek resting on his back during the ride, and did his best not to move too much afterwards. It felt good, and he didn't want to disturb his passenger too much.

As night fell, they sped out of muggle Berlin, which was just beginning to come to life in some parts. Ludwig noticed that the motorcycle was taking them a different route – this one seemed a bit more scenic.

"Next time we'll eat up there," Gilbert pointed up at the tall TV Tower that had become a permanent fixture of Berlin's cityscape as they passed through Alexanderplatz. "There's a restaurant up there."

"Have you ever been?" Ludwig asked, peering up himself. He himself had never given too much thought about muggle Berlin's 'symbols', choosing instead to distance himself from all of that.

"No. Never had the money to do it. But now I think I can."

They zipped through the streets, down past the historical museum and tourist shops and through Brandenburg Gate and the Tiergarten.

"I didn't know you knew your way around this area!" Gilbert said with a laugh. "If we keep going this way, we'll go to Charlottenburg and then we can go to my school!"

Of course Ludwig had no idea where they were going. He knew all of these things existed and had been around several times, but never through the streets like this. He couldn't tell that to Gilbert, though. This was his city and he seemed overjoyed to be revisiting it again the same way he used to.

He supposed that it was a nice little tour.

Soon enough Gilbert's familiar sights and streets were left behind and became Ludwig's familiar sights and streets in magical Berlin. This was home to Ludwig, and he had just a small, fleeting thought – that with Gilbert on his back, things at home were just a bit more comfortable.

Ludwig rolled in front of his house and the motorcycle automatically shut off. Now, the older man wasn't exactly sure what to do with his 'date', now that the date was technically over. Usually, people who date don't live together before they go on these dates, he figured.

Well, whatever. It would just be a normal night. Gilbert still had schoolwork to do so he would be more than excited to work on that. "That was nice," Ludwig said as he slid off and removed his helmet.

Gilbert did the same, still with a grin on his face. "Yes, that was really nice!" he said cheerfully.

They made it to the front door. Ludwig unlocked the door and opened it, stepping inside. He noticed that Gilbert was standing at the front step, making no motion to come in behind him. "Gilbert?"

"Aren't you going to invite me inside?"

This was suddenly very confusing and it put Ludwig in an uncomfortable position. Immediately he started to overthink. Had he said anything to imply that Gilbert was no longer welcome at home? Had the date actually gone horribly wrong and he hadn't noticed? Oh no, things were suddenly terrible when before they had been going so well—

"That's what people do, you know, after a date. One of them invites the other inside if they like them."

Okay, so maybe things weren't an absolute catastrophe after all. Ludwig could work with this. "Is that so?"

Gilbert nodded, a little bit shyly. "Yeah. They invite them in for coffee or tea and…stuff."

"And stuff?" Ludwig raised an eyebrow, stepping back out onto the front step to be with Gilbert.

He glanced off to the side for a moment, shifting on his feet. "Yeah, like…you invite them in, or sometimes you ask for a kiss."

Slowly, Ludwig saw where this was going. "A…kiss, huh?"

Their eyes locked, and Gilbert seemed to find his confidence again. "So what'll it be, huh? Coffee, or a kiss?"

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask that question, since this is my home, after all? You want me to invite you, don't you?"

Gilbert didn't say anything. He simply raised his head expectantly, put all his weight on the balls of his feet, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Ludwig rolled his eyes. Of course. This would all be on him. IT would be easy to say, 'would you like to come in for coffee?' but he knew that this wasn't about the coffee, or even coming in. Gilbert already knew he could come in any time. He lived with him, after all.

"I enjoyed our date very much," Ludwig started, gathering all of his courage. "And I enjoy your company. May I…have a kiss?"

A grin broke across Gilbert's face and he leaned forward a bit more. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, leaning up and placing his hands automatically on Ludwig's shoulders.

Ludwig meanwhile closed his eyes and braced for impact.

Gilbert's lips were surprisingly soft, and his touch surprisingly delicate, and it seemed like he knew what he was doing, which was somehow not surprising. For a moment Ludwig wondered how many other people Gilbert may have kissed, and a rare feeling of jealousy rose in him, but that was quickly banished when he felt the other come closer to him and curl his fingers around the collar of Ludwig's suit.

This…was nice.

This was _very_ nice.

Ludwig's hands went to be around Gilbert's waist and they seemed very happy and comfortable there, and Ludwig forgot all of his worries and stress and insecurities for just a few blissful moments.

A loud bang was heard down the street somewhere, and it made both of them jump back and turn the source of the disruption. It sounded like somebody's waste bin lid had been knocked off.

"Alley cats," Gilbert said with a small laugh, looking up at him. "Maybe we should-"

"Would you like to come in for some coffee?" Ludwig interrupted, his brain slowly piecing itself back together.

Gilbert laughed and nodded slowly, taking one last look out on the street before turning to head into the house. "It would be my pleasure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I didn't forget about Dynamo! It's at the most exciting part too - the first date! Forgive me for my absence in writing; I have been going through a bit of a rough patch in my life followed by a 2 week holiday to Germany. So life has certainly had its ups and downs, to say the least.
> 
> I'm anticipating writing about 2 or maybe 3 more chapters before bringing Dynamo to a wrap. I do know how it will end, it's just making sure that the story gets there in a natural way. But now that they've kissed - what will the future hold for our two favourite Quidditch players? No, we haven't reached "happily ever after" just yet...there are still more trials to overcome! Stay tuned!
> 
> **EXTRA!**
> 
> "These are great. Where did you get these, Johann?"
> 
> The motorcycle had just pulled into the front of Ludwig and Gilbert's home, and the two passengers climbed out. The street was quiet and still – save for several hushed voices, coming from a cluster of waste cans outside a house half a block away.
> 
> "My stint in the military."
> 
> Five figures crouched amongst the silver metal. One of them, the Berlin Badgers' Chaser, Frederick, held to his eyes a pair of binoculars, pointed in the direction of their captain's home. Behind him crouched the remaining team mates – Max, the Beater, Kurstin and Wolfgang, the other two Chasers, and the binoculars' owner, Johann the Seeker.
> 
> Kurstin reached over and grabbed the binoculars, pointing them to her own eyes. "I didn't know you were in the military."
> 
> "Yes, well I-"
> 
> "Did you kill anyone?" Frederick asked.
> 
> "Frederick!"
> 
> "Shh," Max immediately held his hand up to silence the group of amateur spies. "They're at the doorway."
> 
> "Do you think they're going to kiss?" Johann asked, leaning forward to see.
> 
> Frederick snatched the binoculars from a protesting Kurstin. "They fucking better. I didn't hide behind a potted plant for two hours while they had dinner just for them to call it quits at the very end."
> 
> Wolfgang had been quite for most of the night, but finally spoke up. "Do you think they noticed us following them the whole time?"
> 
> "They wouldn't have, if Frederick and Johann hadn't had their cock fight interfering with the entire subtlety of the night."
> 
> The Seeker scoffed, offended. "It's not my fault that Frederick was making Gilbert's bowtie ugly colours."
> 
> "Excuse me?" Frederick looked back at him. "You were the one giving him hideous colours. Zebra stripe? What were you even-"
> 
> "Shut up!" Max hit his brother on the back of the head. "They're talking now…" he pressed the tip of his wand to his ear to hear better. "About…being inside for coffee, I think."
> 
> "Coffee better be a code word for fucking," Kurstin mumbled, making the rest of the team look at her in surprise. Kurstin hardly ever cursed, nevertheless mention things such as that. "What?" she frowned, "I've been rooting for those two since day one."
> 
> The team settled in again to watch the scene unfold. At last, all gasped when they saw the two figures on the front steps lean forward and lock lips.
> 
> "Yes!" Frederick thrust his arm in the air. "What did I fucking tell you? They'll be fucking until the sun rises!"
> 
> Johann and Max clapped high fives in silent joy. Kurstin had the binoculars now and watched his teammate's first kiss without ever breaking eye contact. After a few moments, she gasped and flailed her arm to whoever was next to her – Wolfgang. "Ah! Ludwig put his hand on Gilbert's waist! Oh my God, it's getting so intense, they're so into it!" She took one step forward and hit the back of Frederick's foot, causing her to pitch forward over him. She went tumbling down, which brought down Wolfgang, who grabbed Max in surprise and brought him down too. They all hit the ground, slamming into the aluminium bins around them, making quite a racket.
> 
> "Kurstin! They'll hear us!" Frederick hissed as he struggled to regain his composure amongst the pile of Quidditch players and trash bins.
> 
> By the time they had all gotten up, and looked towards the house, they found that its inhabitants had retreated inside.
> 
> "Think they noticed us?" Johann whispered, fixing his hair.
> 
> "I hope not…how about we just not mention this to either one of them, ever?" Kurstin said, wobbling to her feet herself.
> 
> "Sounds like a plan…so, who's up for an afterparty?" Frederick leapt to his feet, pulling out his wallet. "Drinks on me, in celebration!"


	13. Chapter 13

They were making out on the couch when Gilbert suddenly made a move that caused Ludwig to suddenly freeze up and question every move he had taken that day to lead up to this moment. Gilbert’s hands were starting to slowly make their way up his shirt and it made Ludwig freeze.

Gilbert’s hands were slowly making their way under his suit jacket and moving to untuck his shirt from his pants, and Ludwig knew exactly where this was going. “What are you doing?” he asked stiffly, breaking the heated kiss instantly.

Gilbert pulled away himself, looking over at Ludwig with a small frown. “I was just, y’know…”

“Undressing me,” Ludwig answered for him.

His date nodded slowly. “Is that okay?”

Ludwig wasn't sure. “Look, Gilbert, it isn’t that I don’t want to, or that you’re unappealing or I haven’t enjoyed tonight but...I don’t really, you know…” he winced at what he was about to say. “I don’t fuck on the first date.”

Slowly, he nodded, and Ludwig could tell that Gilbert was disappointed. But, he had to stick to his morals. He didn’t want to rush things - things between him and Gilbert were complicated enough as it was. He didn’t want to make it worse. Ludwig was so many things in Gilbert’s life - his legal guardian, teammate, supervisor, and his idol. He could also stand to add ‘date’ or possibly even ‘boyfriend’ into that mix, but something like ‘lover’ or anything else that implied sex…

Well, he wasn’t ready for that just yet.

Gilbert slowly nodded, glancing aside and contemplating this. “What if I told you...that this was our second date?”

“When was our first?” Ludwig asked, bewildered.

Gilbert, it seemed, had not thought that far ahead. “That one time, when we went out to buy me books and my wand and such, remember? That was our first date.”

“That was not our first date,” the elder scoffed. “That was running errands. Besides, Frederick and Max met with us. So, we weren’t alone.”

“It was a double date.”

“No way. That makes no sense - Max and Frederick are brothers. Not dates.”

Gilbert gave him an incredulous look, before sighing. “Fine, fine,” he resigned. “I’m sorry for pressuring you. We won’t...do anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Ludwig apologized. “I just want to make things right for us. Take it slowly, you know. Since our relationship is a little bit...complicated and all. Do you understand?”

Gilbert nodded, and Ludwig was relieved.

“I enjoyed tonight,” the Keeper said. “Did you?”

“Of course.”

“Would you want to do it again?”

The Beater nodded. “Yes, any time.”

He seemed satisfied at that, as if he had mentally completed a set of difficult tasks that Ludwig wasn’t aware of. “Good,” he finally said. “I think I’ll...go to bed, then. I still have some reading to do for school.”

With one more, hesitant, kiss on Ludwig’s cheek, Gilbert stood up and retired to his bedroom. His date was left on the couch, and Ludwig was mentally relieved - one of his biggest sources of anxiety was figuring out how, if they were going to the same place, they were going to ‘end’ the date. However, Gilbert’s abruptness did surprise him. He knew that the young man was upset about not being able to go ‘all the way’ however he seemed to take it with enough grace.

After several minutes of figuring out what to do with himself, Ludwig decided that he was also tired and should head to his own room as well - they did still have practice the next morning, after all.

He passed by Gilbert’s room on the way and stopped curiously. The door was closed, and Ludwig thought he heard sounds from the other side. Sounds that...didn’t sound like reading.

Ludwig didn’t want to intrude or be nosey, but he also was nosey, so he slowly, quietly, pressed his ear against the door. He even used his wand and held it to his earlobe to enhance his hearing.

He heard muffled grunts and gasps and fervent whispers. Ludwig’s eyes widened when he realized why Gilbert had been so eager to leave Ludwig’s company - so he could have some alone time with himself and his thoughts.

He stepped back, away from the door, before Gilbert could finish and figure out that Ludwig was spying on him, and he hurried to his own room, shutting the door behind him.

Now, he could safely say, the date was over.

***

The next morning, Ludwig awoke at his usual time. He had slept surprisingly well, after showering and taking advantage of his own much-needed ‘alone time’. He dressed, and went to the kitchen. Surprisingly, Gilbert was already awake and in the process of brewing fresh coffee. “Good morning,” he greeted.

“Morning,” Gilbert said happily in return. “Did you sleep well?”

His cheery smile helped to wake Ludwig up a bit more. That reminded Ludwig of what he liked the most about Gilbert - despite having awkwardly shuffled off after making out with his housemate the night before, it had rolled off his back and now here he was, as if nothing had happened. Oil off his back, it seemed.

“We have practice in an hour,” Ludwig reminded his teammate, watching him scuttle around to get them breakfast. He sat at the kitchen table, contemplating if he should...perhaps say anything regarding last night - either during, or after the date.

He figured it was best not to.

“Well aware. When is our next match?”

“This coming Thursday. Against the Munich Mavericks - they’re our biggest rivals, so we need to work hard.”

“Of course.” Gilbert handed him a mug of black coffee, and surprised the man by offering a kiss on his cheek.

Ludwig’s cheeks turned red but he, otherwise, didn’t comment on the display of affection. That wasn’t so bad, he thought. That was nice.  
However, despite Ludwig’s thoughts about the night before, there was no love in Quidditch, he always said. So, after breakfast, the two of them suited up and went off to the pitch to begin their daily practice.

The entire team was soon assembled, all on time and present (for once). This pleased Ludwig. The past twenty four hours, he had to admit, had been going well.

“Alright, team,” he began at their pre-practice warmup/speech in the locker room. “This Thursday is the match against Munich. They’re our most bitter rivals, and Berlin hasn’t won a single match against them in three years. That’s going to change this year. We have a solid team, we are the fan-favourites, and we will accept nothing but victory.” He held the chest of Quidditch balls in his hands, and was trying not to make too much eye-contact with Gilbert. Despite their ‘dating’, or whatever it was they were, he wasn’t going to give Gilbert any favourable treatment. He was committed to team fairness. It was the only way to ensure success.

“This is the biggest match of the season. We will practice every day until thursday,” Ludwig instructed, making most of the team drop their jaws.

“But I have an exam on Tuesday afternoon,” Gilbert protested.

“My sister is getting married Wednesday morning,” Wolfgang also pointed out.

“I’m kind of lazy, and I just don’t want to wear pants that many days of the week,” Frederick despaired. Somehow, the rest of the team didn’t share as much pity for him.

Ludwig shut them all down. “I don’t care. Gilbert, ask your lecturers to take it another time. Wolfgang, you can attend only the ceremony. Frederick, if you show up without pants, I’ll have you thrown out.”

With a few more mumbles, the team agreed to the stricter terms, and left for the pitch to practice.

Practice the team did. Ludwig was determined not to let any feelings for Gilbert or their date get in the way, and he was doing damn well. Gilbert asked him when he’d like to have another date - “After we win against Munich,” was Ludwig’s very focused reply. He didn’t know if Gilbert was disappointed or not - he didn’t let himself know. Otherwise, he might be tempted to change his mind.

Early Thursday morning, Ludwig was a nervous wreck. They had to win - they just had to. The entire country and the rest of Europe was tuned in to the upcoming match. The match was to be held in Munich and the team had arrived the night before. The stands were packed full - not even magic could get another person in. People had camped out overnight, dressed to support Munich, in yellow and blue, or Berlin, in white and red.  
This wasn’t about two rival teams. This was about a clash of culture, about two cities who competed in everything, both magical and muggle, and had since the very beginning. This was not just a Quidditch match - this was a point of pride and dignity.

Seconds before they were about to be introduced onto the pitch, Ludwig held his broomstick tightly. Gilbert stood behind him, and reached forward to take his hand. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

Ludwig glanced back at him and offered a weak smile. “Yeah. This is just...this is big.”

“I know,” Gilbert squeezed his hand before letting go. “We’re going to kick their ass.”

Their team was called onto the pitch and the seven of them began marching, heads high and backs straight, exactly as they had practiced.

“...Making their way onto the pitch are the Berlin Badgers!” Ludwig could hear the announcer introducing them in his distinct Bavarian dialect. “I tell you, this team has been full of surprises this season - we’re hardly two months in and already they’ve been through three Keepers! Their surprising win against the Heidelberg Harriers last week - without the use of their Seeker - has quickly made this small, new team a favourite amongst Quidditch fans…”

Ludwig couldn’t take any more of the grating was the announcer’s annoying Bavarian, and instead turned his attention to the referee, a short, middle-aged woman named Carla, when she came out with the Quidditch balls.

“I want a good match,” she said to both teams. “Be respectful. Do not play dirty. I will have my eyes on each and every one of you. You may mount your brooms.”

Fourteen players mounted their brooms and she kicked the trunk open. The balls were released, the whistle blown, and the match begun.

Ludwig realized that he performed better when he wasn’t caring about the score, so he did his best to do nothing but direct his team and be a Beater himself, only sparing himself a few glances at the scoreboard. It would be a close match - until the Snitch was caught.

Everything was going fine, until the mood of the match changed dramatically. Ludwig was on Munich’s side of the pitch, beating bruises into their Keeper while Kurstin beamed Quaffles through their hoop.

She turned as Frederick threw a Quaffle to her, facing up the pitch, and screamed.

Ludwig turned sharply to her, as well as every player near her, and saw what had made her cry out.

Gilbert.

On the other side of the field, clinging to the bottom of the center Quidditch hoop for dear life, was Gilbert. His broomstick lay almost sixty meters beneath him, limp on the grass.

Ludwig didn’t think about how, or why. Just as a bludger zoomed by his skull, he zoomed off across the field as fast as he could. Gilbert’s grip on that massive, iron hoop was failing, and Ludwig had to get to him before he fell.

“I’ve got you!” Ludwig shouted, reaching a hand out to his ailing Keeper as he approached. “Don’t let go! Take my hand!”

He was so focused on Gilbert. Nothing else mattered. He was leaning so far forward on his broomstick it was a wonder that it didn’t completely tip upside down. In those few, terrifying moments, he wasn’t in a Quidditch match against Munich, he was in a terrifying race against time, trying desperately not to lose the one thing that he had decided that he actually cared about, the one person that he couldn’t let slip away, no matter what-

Gilbert held on with one hand and reached forward with the other, their fingers only centimeters away -

And it was ripped away all at once.

A Bludger, fired right from one of Munich’s Beaters, smashed into Gilbert’s side. His grip was lost and Ludwig could only watch in horror as his Keeper fell, eyes wide and mouth agape, hand still reaching for Ludwig, as he went down, down, and crashed into the ground next to the Dynamo. He did not move.

“Time out!” Ludwig practically screamed at the referee. “Time out, I call a time out!” he was frantic, desperate to get to Gilbert.

“No time out!” he heard the order from her, seemingly from far away. “You are only fifty minutes into the match! Medics will take your Keeper!”

“No, NO, that’s not good enough!” Ludwig shouted, narrowly missing another Bludger and completely ignoring two Quaffles that flew through the now-unoccupied hoops behind him.

Max soon flew up to Ludwig, grabbing his shoulders and shaking. “Calm down,” he said firmly. “Gilbert will be okay, we’ve all survived falls before.”

“No,” Ludwig shook him away. “Gilbert has-”

“Stop!” Max shook him again. “Remember when Frederick got hit in the head and then fell to the ground? You told me to suck it up and keep playing! You’ve told all of us that, and you have even gotten upset at us when we’ve had the audacity to care about you when you’ve been injured-” Max ducked a well-thrown Bludger, but didn’t break his eye contact with his captain. “I understand you care about him and you want him safe - trust me, I do - but if you’re going to lose your focus every time Gilbert takes an injury, then you need to either remove him, or yourself, from the game.”

Max’s words, as harsh as they were, struck a chord with Ludwig. He was completely right. As terrifying as it was to see Gilbert crumpled on the ground unconscious, it was part of the game. They had all taken their fair share of falls, and it was never before an excuse to lose focus. “You’re right,” Ludwig confessed, taking a deep breath. He glanced down at the ground and saw medics loading Gilbert onto a stretcher and taking him off the field. “Let’s...get back to it.”

Max nodded enthusiastically and sped off, eager to try and reclaim lost time. Ludwig did his best to focus on the match, however it was too late - only twenty minutes later, Munich’s Seeker caught the Snitch, and the game was over. The Mavericks won by a landslide. It was the fourth year in a row that they had won over Berlin.  
The Badgers moped off the field. Ludwig, surprisingly, could have hardly cared - it seemed that Johann was shouldering most of the team’s anguish. He walked off the pitch after them, ringing his broomstick. “I’m sorry,” he was saying. “I’m so sorry, I fucked up so badly, I’m so sorry…”

Kurstin was rubbing his back comfortingly. “It’s not your fault, we were all shaken by Gilbert’s fall,” she said quietly.

They all went immediately to the medical ward, where Gilbert lay unconscious on one of the beds. His uniform had been removed, and his chest, shoulder, and head were bandaged.

“He’ll be okay,” the nurse said to them. “he took a nasty fall, but I’ve mended his broken bones and injuries. Nothing was fatal. He just needs rest, and to let his head heal a little bit.”

Ludwig was so relieved to hear such a thing. He didn’t even care that they had lost miserably against Munich. He only cared that Gilbert would be okay.

“What happened?” Kurstin asked. “I just looked over and...his broomstick was falling and he was clinging for dear life.”

“I saw what happened.” Frederick went to his bedside. “He was just doing his thing, keeping Quaffles away. And suddenly, his broomstick just...dropped. I mean seriously, it just stopped flying. He wasn’t even moving. It just dropped out of the sky and he could only grab the goal hoop to keep from going with it.”

“If you saw what happened, why didn’t you go over and help him?” Ludwig demanded angrily.

Frederick put his hands up in defense. “Hey! Two of Munich’s Beaters were targeting me. And you were already halfway there before I could even get a clear opening to move. Don’t blame me; there’s nothing either of us could have done. But he’s okay.”

“Where’s the broomstick now?” Ludwig asked, noticing that it was nowhere near Gilbert’s person or his uniform.

“The referee confiscated it. They’re probably doing tests to see what’s wrong with it,” Kurstin said.

Ludwig nodded. “Come get me if he wakes up,” he instructed, then walked out to find Carla.

She was with the other officials near the locker rooms. There were four of them, huddled around the Dynamo broomstick. Ludwig could tell immediately what they were checking, and he knew immediately what the answer was. The broomstick looked even worse than when Ludwig had last seen it. Of course, the Dynamo had come into his company in bad shape, and he had seen it almost daily since. But when was the last time he actually looked at it? He noticed how the gold paint that spelled the broomstick’s name had lost its lustre, with some letters having completely faded off and the wood itself had lost all of its natural polish and smoothness It was even cracked along one side. The straw at the end of the broom was thin, dirty, and falling out, or bent in all directions. The screws in the stirrups were either rusted or loose.

“What’s the prognosis?” he asked as he approached.

Carla looked at him warily. “We’ve ran every test on it that we can. It’s dead, Ludwig. This thing isn’t even suitable enough to sweep with, anymore.”

He knew that she would say that, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “You’re sure about that? I mean, I knew that it was showing its age but...it just dropped so suddenly. Is that normal?”

“Why do you think the East German Quidditch Team never went anywhere? They couldn’t get off the ground - literally. This model of broomstick has killed people. Even if, by some miracle, we got it to work again, I’m not letting it out on the field again. I’m submitting a report to headquarters right when I’m done, and by tomorrow there will be a league-wide ban on Dynamo model broomsticks - no matter how good they might work.”

She handed Ludwig back the broomstick, and he looked down at it sadly. It was like holding a pet that had died unexpectedly.

“Why did you even let your Keeper ride that thing?” she asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen every match that he’s been in. He’s good, and he’s good on that broomstick. But the risks were always there. You knew that.”

Ludwig shook his head, at a loss. “I...just figured that since it had never failed on him before, there’s...no reason why it would now,” he said. It was a terrible excuse and he knew it. It was also only half of the truth. The other half - he knew how much Gilbert adored his Dynamo and how close he was to it. To keep the boy from riding it - his father’s dream - would be too painful, and he doubted that Gilbert would even want to play on any other broomstick.

“He doesn’t have to throw it out,” she said. “He can keep it, or sell it, or do whatever he wants with it. But he cannot play professional Quidditch with that broomstick. I don’t care if you use black magic or an Unforgivable Curse to get it off the ground. Do you understand?”

The Captain nodded at her. “Thank you,” he said quietly. With nothing else to say, he turned and trudged back to the medical ward to deliver the news.

Gilbert was just coming-to when Ludwig walked in the door. He looked around drearily, seeing the faces of his teammates and soon caught sight of Ludwig with the broomstick. His eyes widened and he sat up, a bit too quickly and soon lay back down. “Ludwig...my broomstick...what happened?” He asked groggily.

The rest of the Badgers looked at each other before standing up. “Gilbert, sweetie, Ludwig is going to...sit with you. We have to, you know, go over the match,” Kurstin said softly, patting Gilbert’s arm before they all quickly left, leaving Ludwig, the dead Dynamo, and the injured Gilbert left.

“My broomstick…” Gilbert mumbled.

It was infuriating how his team just walked out on him to deliver the news, however he knew why - this was a painful job for anyone.

“Gilbert…” Ludwig sat down next to him with a sigh, still holding the Dynamo and looking it over. “Do you know how you fell?”

Gilbert shook his head. “I don’t really remember...I just remember I was at the goals, I had just thrown a Quaffle away, and then I was just falling…”

“Your broomstick,” Ludwig began. “It, um, well it kind of died, I guess. The magic in it...it ran out.”

The boy stared at him, blinking slowly before shaking his head. “I...I don’t understand. Magic doesn’t just ‘run out’, Ludwig…”

“It does, if it’s bad or weak magic. That’s what was powering your broomstick. All Dynamos were made with the same, bad magic.”

“That’s not true,” Gilbert snapped, turning angry. “My broomstick is fine! It has lasted this long, hasn’t it? I’ve been using it every day - I - I even used it during that match against Heidelberg! I was on it for ten hours!”

“I know, I know,” Ludwig was desperate to keep Gilbert from freaking out. He could see the panic in his eyes as his consciousness came back to him and he realized what it would mean for him. “Your broomstick has been amazing. Everyone is so happy and surprised. But it doesn’t mean that it isn’t...what it is. It’s a bad broom, Gilbert. I think, honestly, that it’s your love and devotion to it that has kept it going. But that can’t perform miracles. I can’t let you ride it again.”

“NO!” Gilbert reached out and snatched his broomstick back, clutching it to his chest. “You can’t take my broomstick from me!”

Ludwig couldn’t take much more of this. He was going to become hysterical, and then the man would have no idea what to do. “It almost killed you, Gilbert! I can’t risk that again. I’m not saying to throw it away - we can hang it on the wall, or you can keep it in your room, or whatever you want. But you can’t take it on the field. They won’t let you, and neither will I.”

“But...my father...he wanted me to use this broomstick forever…” That’s what this was about. Not just Gilbert losing the one ‘friend’ and connection to the magical world that he had, but he recalled that the broomstick was, indeed, originally his father’s. It was the only thing that Gilbert had left of the man.

Gilbert looked like he was about to cry, and so Ludwig leaned forward, holding Gilbert closely and gently against his chest. The broomstick was between them, and it was slightly uncomfortable for Ludwig, but he didn’t say anything in the meanwhile. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “Your father wouldn’t want you to almost kill yourself trying to ride that thing. YOu know that,” he said, stroking Gilbert’s hair. “He always wanted what was best for you.”

Slowly, his Keeper nodded. “I want to keep it,” Gilbert whispered softly. “Please, can I keep it?”

“Of course.” Ludwig let go of him and gently let Gilbert lay down again. “We’ll get you a new one soon.” He sighed as he watched Gilbert get comfortable again. “I was...so worried about you, Gilbert. I saw you fall and I feared the worst.”

Gilbert looked away from him. “...did we win?” he asked quietly.

Ludwig shook his head. He seemed numb from any kind of emotion about the loss against Berlin’s longest rival. For the first time ever, he was thinking to himself, it’s just one match. Gilbert’s life and wellbeing was worth so much more than that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and gulping harshly. “I know how much we wanted to win. I wanted to win. I’m so sorry, I let us all down-”

“No.” Ludwig interrupted him. “Don’t say that. It was not your fault. It was just something that happened. They were better than us today.” He sighed. “Rest, Gilbert. You’ll be home soon.”

Gilbert’s eyes were already closing as he nodded. “Okay...just...don’t take my broomstick from me.”

“Of course not.”

Ludwig tucked him in again and then stood up, sighing heavily. He looked towards the doorway and caught sight of his team, waiting outside for him. Hesitantly, he came to join them.

“The referee told us all,” Kurstin said quietly, looking over at Gilbert. “Will he be okay?”

Ludwig followed her gaze back into the room, resting his eyes upon his Keeper, and now, he just realized, the most important in his life. Gilbert lay still and quiet, but his broomstick was clutched against his chest tightly, just like how he used to sleep when he was still homeless, and the Dynamo was all he had for company. 

“I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noo! What will happen now that Gilbert's precious Dynamo is broken forever? You'll find out soon, I promise - I won't keep leaving you guys hanging for weeks on end. I start a new job very soon (my dream job!) so I'm trying to wrap this up before I become too involved in that. 
> 
> We're winding down; only two chapters left, maybe!
> 
> And yes, there will be sex. Probably soon. ;)


	14. Final

While Gilbert recovered in the hospital, the first order of business was to get him a new broomstick. Just because their Keeper was experiencing a bout of personal trauma didn’t mean that the Badger’s schedule had to stop. Another match was in a week’s time – that meant that Gilbert would need to not only find a new broomstick before then, but also get used to it. His Dynamo had been a terrible instrument, there was no doubt about that, however to Gilbert it was the norm.

Ludwig knew two things: If finding a new broomstick for Gilbert was anything like finding him a wand, he couldn’t let the boy have free-range. He knew they would go nowhere. Two, in addition, this new broomstick had to be acquired as soon as humanly possible, preferably before Gilbert was out of the hospital. It was cruel, but Ludwig knew that, for the sake of time and sanity of everybody involved, the broomstick could not be offered as a “choice”. It had to be a non-refundable “gift,” with no hesitations or exchanges.

When discussing these conditions to the team, Kurstin had made the suggestion that perhaps it should be presented as a gift from the entire team, “to remind him of his new family with us.”

This was a mistake, since it then led Ludwig to order everybody to the broom shop in Berlin to acquire a replacement that all would “enthusiastically agree on.”

New Dynamo models had begun to be produced after Gilbert’s rise to fame, but these were already ruled out as possible replacements when Gilbert shot them down weeks before, complaining that they “weren’t the same” as his original – meaning, they were actually safe, reliable, and fast.

“What about the brand new Alexis 4000 model?” the flustered shopkeeper asked. He was the third attendant to wait on the team, after the first two had given up. They had been in the store already for four hours.

“No,” Ludwig responded after hardly even looking at it. “I’ve seen those things - too flashy, in a bad, superficial way. Give me something with substance!”

“Ludwig,” Frederick sighed impatiently from where he and the rest of the team had sat behind him. “We’ve been here for four hours. You haven’t utilized us at all, just steamrolled your opinions and scared away the help!”

The captain sighed, finally letting his own frustrations show. “I just don’t want to rush through this and end up buying him something he’ll hate.”

“Says the one who made it clear to all of us that we need to get him a broom by the time he’s released from the hospital. Isn’t that tomorrow?” Max rubbed his temples, having already just finished his second cup of coffee.

“We’ve already ruled out Firebolts, right? I mean they’re the best right now,” Frederick said. “Yours is holding up well, right Kurstin?”

“I already said no to the Firebolt,” Ludwig said. “Gilbert can’t control a damn Firebolt - those things can hit record speeds in ten seconds with minimal prompting. He’ll send it flying to the moon before the Snitch finishes unfolding its wings.” Ludwig glared at him before looking back at the poor, exhausted salesman. “Do you have anything else?” he asked desperately. “Something that...I don’t know...is good, but not too good, to the point where it’s all flash and no function, and it just has to be something that he-”

“I know, I know,” the salesman said. “You’ve told me all the necessary qualifications. Unfortunately, the brooms I’ve shown you are all the professional-grade models that I have in stock right now. Firebolts are on back order for at least two months, anyways. But the other brooms are all fine instruments and-”

Ludwig held up a hand to silence him at that moment. “Show me what non-professional models you have,” he instructed automatically.

The rest of his team came to attention at that. “Why?” Kurstin asked.

“That’s what’s best for Gilbert,” Ludwig nodded. “I can’t believe it didn’t come to me sooner.”

The players looked perplexed, but were otherwise silent, deciding to instead trust their Captain. “I’d berate you for letting him ride on a shitty broomstick, but I suppose it’s at least a step up,” Frederick sighed.

The salesclerk brought out several varieties of standard, school-issued and practice broomsticks. They were all pitifully plain, obviously meant to be used by many and for short periods of time - only a few even had the broomstick name on them. But one at the very end caught Ludwig’s eye. It had engraved on it a single golden feather.

“What’s that one?” he asked.

“I thought you’d notice that one,” the man said with a smile. “It was very popular amongst teens a few years ago. It was distributed after 1990, called the ‘Unity’. The feather is supposed to represent freedom, and a new start. It was given as a gift to many of the first East German students enrolling in school the first time.”

“I’ll take it,” Ludwig said immediately. “It’s perfect. Why didn’t you show me this first?”

“Well, the specs on it are only mediocre, it really wasn’t meant to be used for-”

“I don’t care about the specs. I won’t accept anything else.”

“Nice to know we were useful in this team effort,” Max said dryly as he stood up and offered his brother a hand.

“You were moral support,” the captain said grumpily.

The Unity was paid for, packaged, and handed to its new (temporary) owner. “When are you going to give it to him?” Frederick asked as they all left the shop.

“Why not when you two get home?” suggested Kurstin.

This seemed like a good idea, but Ludwig didn’t settle for it. “No,” he said, looking over at his teammates. “I want to do it when we are all together. I want it to be a team thing.”

Everyone looked surprised at that. “Really?” Johann scoffed. “Even though we had like, no say in which broomstick he gets?”

Ludwig shrugged. “Remember when he ran away and I told him that we were all like a family, you know? So I want this to be a gift. From his family.”

“Can I be the cool uncle in this family?” Frederick asked with a whine in his voice.

“More like the creepy uncle,” Kurstin shot back playfully.

Ludwig ignored them both while they were going at it, instead focusing his attention back on the Unity broomstick in his hands. He knew it would never replace the Dynamo. He also knew that Gilbert might not even like it. He could only hope that the young Keeper accepted it, and would be able to perform well with it. It may take some time, of course, however with how easy it had been for Gilbert to accept every other change in his life - moving in with Ludwig, going to school, being on the team, having an income for the first time - he could only hope that Gilbert would respond similarly to one last major life change.

“He’ll be alright,” Max put a comforting hand on Ludwig’s shoulder. “He’s used to adapting and changing. Frederick had a toy wand when he was a kid, and it seemed the only thing it was good for was tormenting me. Anyways, it broke just before he was off to school, and was absolutely devastated. He was completely dramatic about it. But soon, after he got his real wand before going off to school, and honestly...he never spoke about that toy wand ever again. I imagine Gilbert will be about the same way.”

“I can only hope,” Ludwig smiled at him. “Thanks.”

The rest of the team dispersed, off home or to run errands. Because this was supposed to be a surprise for Gilbert, Ludwig gave the broomstick to Kurstin for safe keeping, until Gilbert was ready to have it. Then, Ludwig went off to the hospital.

Gilbert was still asleep when Ludwig came into his room. A nurse must have come in at some point to check on him, since his Dynamo had been removed from his grasp and propped gently against the wall next to his bed. Ludwig too a seat next to him and watched him sleep. He reached out and very cautiously took his hand, afraid to disturb the boy. Fortunately, Gilbert hardly stirred.

“I hope I’m good enough for you,” he murmured to his sleeping...what? Boyfriend? Lover? Teammate? Ward? Ludwig didn’t even know. That part was still so confusing for him. What should he call Gilbert? Their relationship had changed so much in such a short amount of time. They lived together, and they had been on one date, and shared several long, passionate kisses afterwards. So what did that mean for them? Everything was just so confusing. He couldn’t even pinpoint where his feelings were on the spectrum between “passionately adore” and “Passionately abhor,” and he was keenly aware that the spectrum was not linear and that it was ever-changing, and that just proved to make it so much worse-

Gilbert shifted and it mercifully broke his train of thought. His eyes were opening, and they soon transfixed onto Ludwig’s form. “Ludwig,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“Good, uh-” He glanced over at the nearby clock. “Good evening, Gilbert.”

Gilbert smiled when he fully saw who it was that greeted him, and it made Ludwig’s heart melt a little bit. “Good evening. Am I doing okay?” the Keeper asked.

How typical of him to ask someone else about himself before others. Ludwig couldn’t help but smile. “I think you’re doing alright. But you’re the best judge of yourself, you know.”

He shrugged, glancing over at his broomstick for a moment before looking back at Ludwig. “I’m okay,” he said quietly.

“You’ll be alright.” Ludwig reached out and boldly (at least for him) took Gilbert’s hand, offering a comforting squeeze.

“What’s been on your mind?” Gilbert asked. Somehow, he always saw right through his captain’s defenses. “I’m sorry I cost you the match, if that’s what is bothering you.”

Ludwig shook his head and squeezed his hand once more. “No,” he assured the worried teen. “I’ve just been thinking about, you know...us. Our relationship, where we’re going from here.”

Gilbert’s face dropped as he instantly assumed the worst. “Oh, really?”

The older man squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Nothing bad,” he assured. “I was just thinking about how much you mean to me and about how worried about you   
I was.” His face was red as he realized he was being unusually expressive.

Gilbert resumed a look of relief before squeezing his hand. He didn’t say anything for several moments before finally: “Hey, Lud...you should kiss me.”

His face was so straight and his words so blunt that they completely took Ludwig by surprise. He stared at Gilbert for several dumbfounded moments while the other stared back at him. Well. It was certainly safe to say that Gilbert was obviously still full of surprises. “We’re in a hospital,” he finally uttered.

Gilbert shrugged, unimpressed with his lousy excuse. “So? I don’t want to wait until I get out of the hospital. I want you to kiss me right now.”

And yet, Ludwig couldn’t say no. After making sure that nobody was around, he leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. It was only supposed to last a moment, but right as he pulled away, Gilbert grabbed the front of his shirt, pressing him into a deeper, longer kiss. Clearly he wasn’t satisfied with just the peck that Ludwig was offering.

They held it for several moments before Ludwig pulled away, needing to breathe. When he looked down, he saw that there was a rather satisfied smirk on Gilbert’s face - and a new hunger in his eyes. “Do you like me?” he asked quietly.

“You know I do,” Ludwig answered, as stoically as possible.

“Do you love me?” he asked quietly, moving his face even closer.

Ludwig gulped. “That, um...that’s a very loaded question,” He said slowly.

Gilbert’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to sleep with me?” 

Again, his bluntness was throwing Ludwig’s confidence completely off, and a proper answer required a degree of tact that Ludwig did not have. “I...er…”

“I want to sleep with you.” Gilbert was steamrolling right along.

“Do you love me?” Ludwig finally vocalized. That was good at least - redirect an unanswerable question with one himself.

Now it was Gilbert’s turn to hesitate. He diverted his eyes and mulled an answer over in his head. This was strange to Ludwig - how could someone so casually admit that he wanted to have sex with a person, but not be able to answer if he loved them? A seed of doubt was planted in Ludwig’s mind. What was it that Gilbert was after in their relationship? Did he even care at all?

Then he remembered that Gilbert’s hesitation came from a question that he himself had been unable to answer.

“What if I said yes?” Gilbert finally replied, and Ludwig was half tempted to answer with a question just to keep the crypticness of the conversation going.

“Then that would make me very happy,” Ludwig answered, doing his best to keep his tone even. Despite that, he was fairly certain it trembled with emotion. It was the first time someone had even implied that they genuinely loved him. He heard that word frequently, from fans, sure, but they didn’t really know him. He knew that if they did, their opinion would change very quickly.

Gilbert’s mouth grew to a smile, but before Ludwig could comment on it, he turned his face away. “But I won’t tell you definitely yes or no until you tell me if you love me or not.”

Suddenly Ludwig’s confidence surged back to him. He leaned forward in his chair, catching Gilbert’s eye. “What if I said yes?” he parroted.

The younger man gasped, taking it as an offense, and reached out to lightly shove him, but Ludwig pulled away before he could. “Well then, I won’t say anything at all!”

“You can’t do that; it’s not fair.”

The injured Keeper laughed and stuck his tongue out before settling back in bed. “I wouldn’t want to do all those things with you if I didn’t,” he finally admitted.

Well, it was a rather roundabout way of admitting it, but it was a distinct answer nonetheless. It did its job of making Ludwig smile stupidly. “I feel the same,” he replied.

Gilbert eyed him carefully before smiling as well. “So, when do you think we’ll be able to directly say it to each other?”

“In another fifty years or so, probably.” With that, Ludwig stood up. “I’m going to go talk to the doctor, okay? Ask him when you’re getting out of here.” He left the room, trying not to think too much about the conversation they both just had. So they loved each other. He was sure when he’d tell Kurstin or Frederick the news, they’d answer with a resounding “duh!” but for Ludwig, it was a big deal. Did that mean they were committed now? What an intimidating concept. Though, it wasn’t like he could imagine himself with any other person.

Well. Acquiring a committed partner had proven to be easier than he had anticipated. Even when he found the doctor and spoke to him, and was told that Gilbert could be released the next afternoon, it was still all on his mind. He wasn’t sure how distant he sounded, but every word seemed far away. The immediacy of Gilbert’s feelings remained front and center.

So he drifted back to Gilbert’s bedside and told him the good news. He’d be released the next day and fully healed the day after. He wouldn’t even miss a practice session.

Gilbert asked if Ludwig could stay with him until then, and Ludwig was happy to oblige. He was careful, remembering that hunger in Gilbert’s eyes and blunt talk of wanting to sleep with him, but as the hours went on, this seemed to be far away from Gilbert’s consciousness. For the time being, he seemed happy just having 

Ludwig beside him.

***

As promised, Gilbert continued to recover through the night and was released the next afternoon. Fortunately there was very little fanfare in getting him home - Ludwig was worried the newspapers had somehow discovered when the Keeper would be discharged, but fortunately they left as quietly as could be asked for.

“Home at last!” Gilbert said as they arrived indoors. In one hand was a bag with his freshly-laundered Quidditch uniform, and in the other was his broomstick.

“It certainly missed you,” Ludwig said as he followed close behind and trailed Gilbert into his bedroom. He couldn’t help but smile a little at Gilbert’s words. “I’m glad you’re using that word to describe this place.”

“What word?” Gilbert asked as he set his things down at the foot of the bed and sat down on the mattress.

“Home.”

The boy snorted and lay back on the bed. “I’ve been living here for...what? Nearly five months now? What else would I call it?”

“I don’t know; the place where you sleep?” Ludwig sighed. He was just awful at this. “That word just implies that you are comfortable here. And you want to stay here for a long time.”

“I want to be here for as long as you’ll have me stay,” Gilbert replied gently.

Ludwig sat down on the edge of the bed next to Gilbert, he, again, didn’t know what to say. So, rather than risk embarrassment, he changed the subject. “What are you going to do with your Dynamo? If you want, we can mount it on a plaque and we can hang it on your walls next to your film posters.”

He simply shook his head, following the man’s gaze to land on his broom. “No. I have plans for it.”

“What plans?”

The Keeper winked. “You’ll see,” he said, leaning towards Ludwig. “You should kiss me.” He puckered up.

Somehow, Ludwig was preparing for this. Talking about his feelings and desires were hard - but playfully rebounding Gilbert’s seemingly endless thirst for affection was easy. “Why should I?” he asked, leaning back away from him.

Gilbert scoffed, looking offended. He moved then to sit straddling his lap facing Ludwig. He put his hands on the man’s shoulders and leaned forward. “Because I’ve been int eh hospital for days, I’m injured and weak, and a kiss from Ludwig is the only thing that can cure me,” he wailed.

Ludwig rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to say something smart. But he couldn’t lie - ever since Gilbert had given him those telling “bedroom eyes”, he had wanted to get closer as well. So instead of saying something, he leaned forward and kissed him.

The boy was unsurprisingly receptive, pressing himself closer to Ludwig and kissing back fervently. Apparently, this was what he had been wanting for a very long time indeed - it only worked to heat Ludwig up more. With the way that gilbert was pressed up against him, and the way that he worked to make the kiss deeper and deeper with each passing second...well, it was obvious that he was seeking something a little bit more.

This thought struck him, but for some reason he wasn’t nervous about it like he had been in the hospital. It even excited him.

Could this mean that he was finally ready?

“I love you,” he blurted out, the words somehow comprehensible despite the fact that their lips were still locked.

Gilbert stopped and pulled away, breathless and with a shocked look on his face. “Did you just say you love me?”

It took Ludwig a moment before realized what he had indeed just said out loud, and felt his face grow hot. “I...uh...I said that, didn’t I?”

He silently nodded. “Did you mean that?”

Ludwig was still trying to get his brain to start working properly. “Yes,” He replied after several strained moments.

“Well aren’t I lucky then?” Gilbert’s face lit up as if someone had put a spell upon it. Ludwig was about to reply that the events of the past five months that had led up to this very moment proved that he was indeed perhaps the luckiest person on the planet, but the words were swallowed when Gilbert resumed their very passionate kiss.

There was no doubt or hesitation in Gilbert now. He was going in for the kill. The kiss grew hotter and hotter, and his hands reached down to grab the edge of Ludwig’s shirt and pull it up. Part of him wanted to stop Gilbert, to tell him to maybe slow down or stop altogether, however it was the part of him that wanted just the opposite that he listened to. It was the part of him that helped Gilbert lift up his shirt over his head and removed it, and the part of him that started to pull Gilbert’s shirt off to. This was a part of Ludwig that he didn’t even know existed. But it was exhilarating and Ludwig wanted to cherish it.

Before he knew it, Ludwig had pulled them both back onto bed with Gilbert resting on top of him. They broke their kiss to look at each other. Gilbert’s bride red eyes oozed confidence - a trait that Ludwig found quite arousing.

“Do you want to?” Gilbert asked in a low voice.

“Do what?” Ludwig responded playfully.

“You know what!”

The Beater moved one hand to place a finger on Gilbert’s lips. “I’m not going to do it unless you can say it.”

Gilbert’s cheeks puffed out in an angry pout. “Fine,” he resigned. “Would you like to...have sex?” His cheeks were already red, but his smile betrayed him.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Ludwig winked and quickly rolled them over so it was Gilbert laying beneath him. The room was beginning to get dimmer as the sun set earlier now than ever, but it somehow made him notice Gilbert’s every detail even moreso than in daylight. Perhaps it was the stark contrast of the dark surroundings with his white hair and pale skin, or perhaps it was the fire in his eyes that illuminated his face.

His partner looked quite surprised by this, gazing up at Ludwig with wide eyes. “Where did this boldness come from?”

Ludwig shrugged. “Let’s just say that there isn’t a sufficient amount of blood in my brain to warn me of the risks of being so bold, or how stupid I probably look right now.”

“Good. Now don’t say anything else that might make me believe you’re lying.” He plunged his head back down in a heated kiss.

Upon retrospect, Ludwig would look back at that night and describe the scene as “one thing leading to another” until they were both completely nude, facing each other with their bodies and limbs lost amongst one another.

‘One thing leading to another’, indeed. That kind of phrase seemed like it was all an accident, but it wasn’t. For once, Ludwig went into this very dangerous and very risky activity deliberately, with no hesitation, no fear, and no backing out.

“You said you loved me,” Gilbert whispered sometime in the night, when the only part of him that Ludwig could make out was his face nestled between Ludwig’s legs. His hair was messy and glowing as it reflected off the moonlight, and his pale skin had a beautiful sheen to it after of activity. “I want you to know that I love you too.” He winked and grinned. Before Ludwig could say anything, Gilbert ducked his head down and Ludwig felt any chance of rebuttal completely disappear.

At the end of it all, when they were both spent of energy, when both their lips were chapped from hours of kissing and neither of them were sure whose skin belonged to whom, they both at last surrendered to sleep.

***

The next morning, Ludwig awoke early as he always did. He became acutely aware of the fact that he was not in his own bedroom, he was naked, and that there was another naked body pressed up against him.

The sun had just peeked over the horizon and he could see that his bedmate was Gilbert, and they were both were rather messy from their previous activities the night before.

He leaned his head back on the pillow and took a deep, long breath. They had been intimate. Not just “intimate” but the more appropriate term would probably be closer to passionate. After the things they had done - over four times! And that wasn’t even including the foreplay and the resting periods and all the smutty words they had shared - what was he supposed to say to Gilbert? What if Gilbert wasn’t happy with last night? What if he wanted to end things right then? Or even worse - what if he wanted to do more? Ludwig could feel his anxiety steadily rising as high as his broomstick at the start of a Quidditch match.

Gilbert shifted next to him, yawned, and soon opened his eyes, smiling cheerfully up at Ludwig before moving closer and resting his cheek on Ludwig’s shoulder. 

“Good morning,” he said sleepily.

The older man offered a small smile in return. “How are you?”

“Fine! Just feeling a bit tired and sore.”

Ludwig’s face turned red. He knew why. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Gilbert leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips. “If I was anything but, I wouldn’t be satisfied.”

The comment only served to make Ludwig’s face even redder. “We should get breakfast,” he mumbled, moving to get out of bed quickly, but Gilbert’s surprising upper body strength (he also discovered that last night, among other things) kept him down.

“I want you for breakfast,” Gilbert purred.

Ludwig gulped, not breaking eye contact as he felt “breakfast” start to heat up and come alive. “So I take it that you...liked last night?” He asked perhaps the most useless question of the decade.

With a wink, Gilbert lifted himself up to peer down at his captain. “So much, I want an encore.”

They ended up occupying themselves once more and were almost late for Quidditch practice.

Almost, but not quite. Ludwig may suddenly have distractions, but that was no excuse to be a poor leader for his team. He, with a reluctant Gilbert in tow, were still the first to arrive on the Qudditch pitch nearly two hours later.

Soon the others arrived, Kurstin showing up last with Gilbert’s new broomstick, but kept it hidden from view in the women’s locker room until it was time for the “big reveal.” Gilbert had, for the first time ever, arrived for practice without his Dynamo. Perhaps it was because he was preoccupied in the hours leading up to practice, or the possibility that Gilbert had resigned himself to the reality that his broom would never fly again. Either way, there was not a peep out of him as he prepared to go into practice with a loaner broom.

“Alright, Badgers,” Ludwig began their pre-practice meeting with a stern expression out in the middle of the field. “We lost our last match, but its through no fault of our own. We’ve shown the other teams time and time again that we are not to be reckoned with. we have won with hardly a Keeper, with no seeker, and with being one of the newest teams in the league. Again, our defeat last week was due to malfunction, not incompetence. With that in mind, while way may remember, that-”

“Captain.” Frederick raised his hand to interrupt.

Ludwig glared at his Chaser. “What, Frederick?”

“You seem a bit different today.” The knowing smirk on his face was enough to make Ludwig’s face turn red (again) and his glare deepen. “Well, I’ve been enjoying a lovely few days without my finest Chaser, who is also my finest annoyance,” he said dryly.

Frederick just laughed and Ludwig nodded discreetly to Kurstin, who quietly parted from the group and headed towards the women’s locker room.

“As I was saying,” Ludwig continued, “while we may remember that we are a superior team, our opponents will only remember our loss. Because of that, we cannot lose our next match. Is that clear?” The team mumbled and nodded in acceptance. “Good. Then we will begin our morning warm-ups before jumping right into drills.”

“Um, sir…” Gilbert raised his arm. “Is there any broomstick that I can use?”

“I know!” Kurstin called from behind him, jobbing back to the group with the new Unity broomstick in her hand. Ludwig saw that she had even stuck a red and gold bow on the handle - the colours of the Berlin Badgers. He couldn’t help but smile at the extra touch.

She reached Gilbert and offered him the broom. “Gilbert,” she said boldly, “we are all heartbroken to witness the tragic death of your broomstick. We know how much it meant to you, and we know that nothing can ever replace it, but here. Your new broom, called the “Unity.” It’s from all of us on the team. But mostly Ludwig.”  
Gilbert stared at it for several moments before hesitantly taking it into his hands. He inspected it carefully - feeling the handle of the broom, eyeing the straw, running his fingertips over the golden feather engraved on the handle. His eyes were wide in wonder, surprise, and a touch of suspicion. “It’s called ‘Unity’?”  
“Yes.” Ludwig nodded. “They were produced for only one year, after Reunification. It isn’t a professional line, mostly marketed to and distributed to school-aged Quidditch players, but I figured it would be perfect for you.”

The Keeper looked down and noticed the large gift bow. There was a tag attached. In Kurstin’s neat handwriting, it read: “To Gilbert, from your fans and family, the Badgers.” Upon reading that, he began to tear up. “Family?”

Kurstin, Frederick, Johann, and even Max went forward and enveloped Gilbert into a big group hug, leaving only Wolfgang and Ludwig on the side. “Join us!” Kurstin hissed, and the two stragglers joined in.

“We’re all a family, and we’re the best team ever!” Frederick said happily, and after a few moments Ludwig pulled away when he saw the tears flowing freely down 

Gilbert’s cheeks and it was making beginning to make him tear up as well.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough of that,” Ludwig said gruffly. “We still have a lot to do! Haven’t I said before, there’s no crying in Quidditch?”

The rest of the team grumbled their complaints but obeyed anyways. They broke apart and resumed their positions across the field. Ludwig took this opportunity to speak a bit more privately to Gilbert, who wiped his teary eyes with one hand and held his new broomstick with the other. “Do you really like it?” the captain asked quietly. “I put quite a bit of thought into which model would suit you best.”

Frederick was eavesdropping nearby and shouted, “if by ‘a bit of thought’ you mean ‘spend five hours in the broom shop even the most advanced models, then yes he did!”

Ludwig rolled his eyes and ignored his teammate, looking instead down at Gilbert.

“It’ll take some getting used to,” Gilbert answered with a small smile, “but I do like it. Thank you.”

Ludwig had to remind himself that in that moment, his Team Captain hat was on, and his Boyfriend hat was off, so he resisted the urge to hug the boy as they parted ways to begin practice. Right then, Quidditch was more important.

Just as Gilbert predicted, it was a slow start for him as he got used to his new broomstick. It was difficult at times, but Ludwig commended himself on how patient he was with his Keeper. However, by mid-afternoon, Gilbert was performing just as well, if not better, than he had on the Dynamo. It pleased Ludwig immensely.  
After practice, when everybody had changed out of their uniforms and were making plans to go drinking, Ludwig found Gilbert just outside of the locker room, still eyeing Kurstin’s note. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Gilbert was more enraptured by those few words on that note than with the broomstick itself. He knew why - it was really that one word that was so important to Gilbert. Family.

He glanced at the boy and then looked out onto the field where the rest of the team was gathered in a group, finalizing post-practice plans. “We are very much like a family, huh?”

“You were the one who told me that first,” Gilbert replied, tearing his eye away from the note to look up at him. “Remember? In the warehouse?”

“I remember,” he said, ushering Gilbert to come along with him. The others were starting to head out, and Ludwig wanted to go along, but at a leisurely distance so he could speak freely. ”You know that we won’t always be a team like this, right? Players transfer, or retire, or stop playing for lots of reasons. A full, unchanging team is usually only together for a few seasons at the most.”

“I know that,” Gilbert brisked, walking next to him. “But even so, we can all stay in touch. There’s the pub that we go to. Or use Floo Powder to visit. Or letters, or that creepy technique where you stick your face in a fire. I know we can’t all play together until we’re old and retire. But families overcome all of that. They’re close, regardless of the physical distance.”

Ludwig had to admire his optimism and determination. It rubbed off on him a little bit as well. He patted Gilbert on the shoulder and they picked up speed. “Come on. Let’s be social with our ‘family’.”

***

A week passed and it was beginning to be a bit bothersome to Ludwig that Gilbert refused to disclosed his plans for the Dynamo. While practice went on, Gilbert became quite comfortable and confident in his Unity - and when the press got word of his new selection of broom, the brand enjoyed a brief surge of popularity again - and performed exceptionally on their next game against the Cologne Comets, aiding in the Badger’s victory 270-60.

The entire time this was going on, Gilbert didn’t sleep in his bed once, opting instead to share his nights under Ludwig’s sheets. And so the Dynamo remained in Gilbert’s room, propped up in the corner, ignored and seemingly forgotten. When Ludwig would ask about its fate, Gilbert was oddly deflective. He had plans for it. No, he didn’t want it mounted on the wall. He didn’t want to donate it, or give it away, or sell it. To Ludwig, Gilbert’s “plans” for the broom seemed to be just forgetting about it completely. For some reason, Ludwig found this almost offensive and upsetting. Perhaps it was because he had sat through so many of Gilbert’s tantrums and rants about how just the broom was to him whenever someone came between him and the Dynamo, or perhaps it was the fact that Gilbert was obviously withholding something from him. Either way, Gilbert’s attitude shift bothered him.

The monday morning following their victory against Cologne, Ludwig awoke slowly when he heard Gilbert next to him shift and leave the bed. It was a day off today, so the team was not meeting for practice. Ludwig was aware of Gilbert leaving the bedroom to take a quick shower and then go into his (former) room. By the time Ludwig motivated himself to get out of bed and throw a robe on, Gilbert was already dressed, putting his shoes on his feet in the hallway and his Dynamo broomstick resting on the floor next to him.

“Where are you off to so early?” Ludwig asked with a yawn, leaning against the hallway wall.

Gilbert turned and looked at him. Without a word, he lifted up his broomstick. Ludwig understood - whatever Gilbert’s plan was with the broom, it was now being set in motion. He was dying of curiosity, but he also didn’t want to be rude and pry into Gilbert’s private business. So, he wasn’t exactly sure if he should ask for specifics.  
Fortunately, Gilbert could see Ludwig’s inner struggle and smiled, standing up after he tied his shoes. “You can come with me, if you’d like,” he said, relieving Ludwig’s cognitive dissonance.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Ludwig sighed and nodded. It was irritating that Gilbert was still being cryptic, but he just couldn’t sit this one out. “Let me get dressed.”

Fifteen minutes later, he emerged from his bedroom, shoes on his feet and a light jacket on to protect him from the early Autumn chill. He didn’t know where they were going, so he was prepared for anything.

Without saying much to each other, they left the house.

“Do you want to use Floo Powder?” Ludwig offered as they walked down the street.

“We can’t get to it by magic.”

That was a lie, Ludwig knew, because they could at least get part of the way to anywhere by magic, but he didn’t mention that. This was Gilbert’s plan, not his.

The two Quidditch players left magical Berlin and walked amongst the busy sidewalks filled with job-bound muggles and early bird tourists. Somehow Gilbert still had Deutschmarks and was able to buy them both passes to ride the U-Bahn. Gilbert looked a bit strange, riding the public transport with a dingy broomstick in hand, but despite a few glances, there was no trouble. Most Berliners at that point had seen much stranger.

Finally they got off at the station for the Olympic football stadium, nowadays used for large football matches. This left Ludwig quite confused; what did Gilbert want to do with his broomstick at the football stadium? He supposed it made some sense, having to do with sports and all, but it still very much confused Ludwig.  
“What do you want at the stadium?” he asked. Gilbert did not answer.

He simply continued to walk towards it from the station, however diverted his path when they got close. Now, they weren’t moving to the stadium, but rather someplace else. Before long, Ludwig was aware that they were walking to a cemetery. “Friedhof Heerstraße” was its name, and one of the gated entrances warned about keeping the doors shut because of wild boars.

The cemetery was quite large, but it was quiet on this Monday morning, far from the bustle of the city, and the early morning chill left a thin layer of frost on the Autumn leaves.

As they walked through the cemetery, Ludwig observed the well-manicured grass, new, polished tombstones mixed in with old war-torn blocks, and fresh-cut flowers on the graves. This was a muggle cemetery, and not an abandoned one. They walked until Gilbert stopped at one - it was one rectangular tombstone, with two names written upon it. “MARIE and OTTO OSTKAISER” Underneath were their birth dates and death dates - 5 April 1987 and 3 April 1987, respectively. Underneath that was a single quote going across the stone: “YOUR SACRIFICE WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.” The engraving was simple and polished, with an image of a rose underneath the names.

“Gilbert, I didn’t know your parents had gravesites,” Ludwig commented delicately.

“They didn’t,” Gilbert replied after a long pause. He never took his eyes off the tombstone. “There are no bodies underneath, but I feel that they deserve this at least. But maybe it’s more for me than anyone else.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” said Ludwig, putting a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “When did they get this?”

“I’ve wanted to do this since they died. I tried for years to save up money after I was homeless, but I never could get enough before I’d either have to spend it to survive, or it’d be stolen. So when I joined the team and got my first paycheck, I knew it would be the first thing I bought.” He was smiling by the end, side-eyeing Ludwig.

Suddenly, it all made sense to the Beater. Gilbert never seemed interested in material goods, even after he joined the team and earned his own wages. He bought food, clothing, and school supplies, as well as splurging on the occasional poster or film premier, however as far as Ludwig was concerned, a fast majority of Gilbert’s paychecks sat in a bank account. Now he understood why - reserving land in a cemetery and purchasing a tombstone was very expensive, whether in magical or muggle currency.

He also had a feeling why Gilbert was here with the Dynamo.

“At least you always have a place where you can go when you want to see them.”

Gilbert smiled and held up the broomstick. “I always believed the spirit of my father resided in this. I know it’s silly but...it got me through. It’s one of the reasons why I would get so upset when people said it was nothing but a shitty broom, or that it would break. I believed - no, still believe - that it was my father encouraging me. That’s why it lasted so long.”

“And when it stopped working?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it was his spirit leaving, knowing that I was alright.” Gilbert looked over at the man, smiling.

Ludwig scoffed at that. “He knew it was time to leave when you were in the middle of an important match and 100 metres in the air?”

“My father wasn’t known for his superb timing,” Gilbert replied dryly. He moved forward then and thrust the Dynamo into the ground next to the tombstone, handle-side down.

It leaned a little due to the soft soil, so Ludwig discreetly pulled his wand and set it upright with a little magic. As an added touch, he added a few colourful flowers around it. “Nobody will be able to remove it, and no winds will blow it,” he assured after casting his final spell.

Gilbert lent him a smile and a qui “thank you” before looking back down at the grave. “You know, I never really considered the broomstick mine,” he mused. “I had it for seven years, and my father barely had it for one. But yet it was always his. I was always just keeping it safe until it was time to be returned.  
That time was now. Ludwig wondered what prompted it. The new gravesite? Its lack of function? Some kind of psychological maturity? Perhaps all three. “Even though it was you that used it the most?”

“But it was my father that found it,” he countered, “and brought it to life.” Gilbert sighed, closing his eyes. “It was his dream to fly the broom over the Wall. I wasn’t even supposed to see him try to escape that night. He was supposed to go over alone and bring us over later. But I followed him secretly, and stole the broom from his body after he got shot.”

Ludwig knew that he could spend another hour arguing with Gilbert as to why he was the rightful owner of the Dynamo, but it didn’t matter. He stepped back and clasped his hands behind his back. “You know, people often come to graves to unload their grievances. If you want to vent...they’re listening.”

Gilbert didn’t say anything for a long time. He only stood at the grave, staring at his parent’s names. Finally, when Ludwig was just beginning to get unnerved, the boy moved and sat down before the marble slab. Ludwig took this opportunity to take several steps back in an effort to give him some space and privacy.

“...I’m sorry,” Gilbert finally said, the words getting stuck. “I’m sorry that you both had to die so I could live. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you! Even after all this, when I’ve learned so much and I’ve come so far, I miss you both every day, and I wish I could have saved you.”

The words were coming quickly now, falling out of his mouth at a rapid, unfiltered pace. Ludwig couldn’t see his face, but with the way his voice wavered, he knew he was on the edge of tears.

“...But I made it this far,” Gilbert continued. “I made it over the Wall, and I survived for so long! I’m learning magic, father, and it’s everything you could have ever imagined. I wish, I wish...you could be here, to see it, and learn with me.” He took a deep, long breath, his next words ringing with confidence. “I’m okay now, though. I’m okay! I’m happy, and I’m strong, and I have a purpose. You’ll always be my mother and father, but I have a new family. I’m loved!” Gilbert then stood up and put his hand on top of the gravestone. “Thank you,” he whispered, “and good bye.” He turned to face Ludwig then, wiping tears from his cheeks.

Ludwig smiled. “You okay?” he asked awkwardly.

The boy nodded. “Yeah, I just...well...I’ve needed to do that for a long time.” He approached Ludwig and reached out to take his.

“You planning to get buried here too?” Ludwig asked, squeezing his hand.

Gilbert glanced back at his parent’s grave and then looked back at Ludwig, smiling. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I was thinking, maybe, next to you.”

The Captain snorted. “You’ll get sick of me way before then, I promise.”

With a shrug, Gilbert began to lead them back the way they came. “Well, we’ll see. Shall we go home now?”

Ludwig nodded, a genuine smile overcoming his face at that word again.

“Sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter, and it's done! I'm so happy, I'm pleased with how it has ended and I do hope that you did too. Please leave a review and let me know how it was; even if you haven't ever reviewed before, I would still love to hear from you :) Thank you all so much for your support; I'm so glad that you've reached the end of this very long, but very fun, process with me.
> 
> Stick around for ONE MORE UPDATE, though! the Epilogue! What happens to Gilbert, Ludwig, and the rest of the Badgers over time? After all, not everybody's story is finished being told...I'll have it up very shortly, since I've been working on it simultaneously! I don't think there will be an Author's note with the epilogue, but we'll see!
> 
> Thanks again! You all have been amazing!


	15. Epilogue

_Final Report from the Account of Gilbert Ostkaiser-Beilschmidt, Age 21, Quidditch Keeper_

_To be Filed for Immediate Review_

_Dated: 3 May 1998_

_Location: A Favourite Pub in Magical Berlin_

* * *

Three and a half years ago I engraved my parent's names into a tombstone and placed my most beloved possession, an antiquated, nonfunctioning Quidditch broomstick from the Soviet days, beside it. I walked away that day and vowed that I would not return for it.

So far, I have kept that promise. I do, however, return to that place from time to time, usually when the weather is particularly nice or nostalgic, and lay flowers down in memory of my parents. I am able to put a spell upon them now, I have learned that, so that they may last forever, however I choose not to and let the flowers die. It gives me an excuse to return again.

I have a new family now; or at least that's what I called them. The original Berlin Badgers team from 1994. Johann the Seeker, Kurstin, Frederick, and Wolfgang the Chasers, Max the Beater, and the one I'm closest to of all – Ludwig the Beater, and team captain. Ludwig had warned me, back then, that even though we were close at that time, teams do not last forever. He was correct. In three years it was only me, him, Kurstin, and Wolfgang still on the team. Johann had to move back to his hometown of Hamburg in order to take care of his ailing mother; he accepted a draft on the Hamburg professional team two years ago, and we still see him in the skies when we play one another.

Frederick had suffered a debilitating spinal injury during a match one year ago that left him paralyzed from the waist down. The situation looked grim, however through the power of magic, rehabilitation, and (mostly) his own stubbornness and determination, he was on his feet again within six months. Though he was expected to walk normally again, it would take a very long time, and his doctor forbade him from being on a broomstick for longer than two hours. Thus, he was forced into an early retirement. Nowadays he entertains children and walks with a cane, usually with his arm linked with his brother's for support. Max, as he does, did not take the news of his brother's injuries very well at all. Only two matches after Frederick's retirement was finalized, Max resigned as well. It was too difficult to be in the air without his brother, he had said. Even though we pleaded with him and offered him a salary raise, he refused. No compensation would be able to replace his brother on the team with him. Now, we still heard his voice over the loudspeakers, as he had taken his side-hobby of endlessly commenting on Quidditch matches into a career – he was our lovable, local Quidditch announcer.

Lives change, but our companionship to one another did not have to. Every weekend, we met at our favourite pub and shared drinks.

That's where we were, on this night. The pub was unusually full, even for a Saturday night, and it was loud with conversation. Just the night before had been a terrible event that swept through the international wizarding community – a battle had taken place in Britain. A school had been attacked in the highlands of Scotland – a school, of all places! A "dark wizard" calling himself "Voldemort" had attacked with his minions. Many had fought, and died, and in the end thank God, he had been among the fatal.

By this point, nobody was stranger to this "Voldemort" character. Not necessarily because he was any kind of threat to the community, but rather because Britain's response to this terrorist, his minions, and his message had gone down as one of the most disastrous in recorded history. Not only had the British Ministry of Magic outright refused to acknowledge his growing presence up until the very last moment, they had allowed him to roam free, killing as he pleased and recruiting for his cause. For a time, neither magic nor muggle were safe in Britain.

This opened up a fair bit of dialogue amongst the magical governing bodies across the globe. How would a threat like this be treated in other countries? It was clear that Voldemort himself was not largely powerful, merely reckless, and stopping him early would have been simple in another environment. America had plans to send aide in the form of their own highly-trained wizards, but by the time the call could be placed to London, it fell upon enemy ears. Switzerland was more than ready if Voldemort had plans to leave the British Isles – after all, military service was compulsory in Switzerland, and this did not exclude the magical population. France was making steps as well, and whether it was because they perceived an actual threat of a Dark Wizard crossing the English Channel, or simply to outdo their historic rival in any aspect of governing is unclear.

Months of academic talk and speculation had led up to a tragic battle in the dorms of school children, and any wizard with a radio or any other kind of public communication device was listening raptly as reports of massive explosions, lost family members, and the miracles of survival began to stream out of the hills of Scotland and to the rest of the world. The morning after, the Berlin magical newspaper proclaimed "THE BATTLE OF HOGWARTS" was a turning point in wizarding history. British history, at least.

Even the next night in our pub, it was all people would talk about. Stories of legendary magic, rising from the dead, and evil snakes were amongst the rumours and fantastical stories that may or may not have occurred the previous night fluttered around the room like a freshly-released Snitch. Though we all tried to ignore it by conversing about other things, we all were distracted. Kurstin, Frederick, Wolfgang, Max, Ludwig, and Johann – they were all distracted. Myself as well. We had never told anyone about our more personal touch with the events happening in Britain.

Christian.

The more we heard about dark wizards, torture, murder, government takeovers, and terrorism, the more we wondered to ourselves – is that Christian, amongst all that? We had not heard a single word from him since his letter three years ago, announcing that he was leaving his life in Germany behind to relive his time as a Death Eater.

We had heard of many Death Eaters killed, or committing suicide after their master lost his battle, or becoming imprisoned. What had happened to Christian? I suppose we tried not to care – he not only betrayed and left us, but for some low-life terrorists, at that! – but it was difficult not to. We had all known him on some personal, intimate level. Ludwig had told me that he was the only one to volunteer to come with him to get me enrolled in school, and had pressured Ludwig to go through with it. So, for that, I suppose I owe him for changing my life.

Just as the news of the carnage in Scotland had reached the forefront of our brains again, a sound from the fireplace diverted our attention. A  _POP_ , followed by shuffling footsteps and frenzied coughing. I turned to see the commotion, as did the rest, but from my seat I could only see the glow of the fire turn briefly green before returning to normal.

The pub went immediately silent. A few people shuffled around, and I slid off my seat to get a better view. From the smell and sound towards the fireplace I knew that somebody had just used Floo Powder – from standing, I could see exactly who it was. I gasped.

Christian.

The man himself, who had been on all of our minds these very turbulent months, had just come staggering into the pub from the fireplace, looking worse for wear. He wore a tattered black cloak that Death Eaters commonly wore, ripped and faded, and his skin carried on it days' worth of grime, blood, and gunpowder. If there was any doubt that Christian had been in that battle, there was none anymore. We all knew then that he had travelled directly from Scotland.

"You have a lot of courage, showing up here," the bartender said from his position at my left, aggressively rubbing a tankard clean. Those in the way of Christian and us, his former teammates, quickly moved aside so there was a vast, uninterrupted space between us.

"Or perhaps none at all," replied Kurstin, her gaze unusually steely. She stood at my side, fists clenched. "Weren't the surviving Death Eaters arrested?"

"Please, I had nowhere else to go," Christian finally said. His voice was different from what I remembered; it was quieter, and his years of speaking English had thickened his accent. There was no confidence in his speech. At that moment, he more resembled a child begging his mother for forgiveness after breaking an expensive vase. "We lost, and-"

"Of course you lost, you imbecile," Ludwig said dangerously. "Every human that owns a wand knows what happened up there last night. What did you expect? Your master was a joke. His 'vision' was nothing short of laughable and pathetic. You can only credit your successes to the incompetency of the government you took over. Now that you've lost, you come crawling back here, begging for refuge and forgiveness? Why should we?"

"You threatened my life," Johann spoke up. "I never forgot that. Your master wanted me dead only because of my lineage, and you were okay with that."

"Really, you're brave for coming here," Frederick said with a scoff, pointing his cane threateningly at him from his spot on the barstool. "Right now, to me, you seem no better than the Neo-Nazis who parade through towns with their hateful, outdated messages."

Christian feared for his life; I could see it in his eyes. He was afraid of what would happen to him in Britain, surely, but it was foolish for him to return to Berlin thinking he would be welcomed with open arms. Sure he had been our friend, companion, and teammate, but did he expect us to just not care about what he had been doing for the past three years?

When I looked at his eyes I saw some part of me in them. A frightened, lost individual who was between the safety and comfort of two nations. That was me, many years ago. As joyous as I had been when East Germany fell and was absorbed into one nation, there was a part of me that did not exactly belong to this new, powerful Germany. A bit of me was still behind that wall, and though I never wanted to go back to the way things were, there was a sort of pride that I felt, for having fought so hard and for surviving so long. Many of the benefits that came to East German citizens never came to me; after all, I had no formal identification (the Stasi had destroyed even my birth certificate), so I could not receive much assistance. I had been pushed out of a world that no longer existed, yet unable to enter the world that replaced it.

Christian, I felt, was experiencing that now. Despite the evil intentions of the world he had come from, it no longer existed, and the new world that replaced it wanted nothing to do with him. Though I did condone what he did or supported, and I was not sad to hear about what happened to his master and followers, I pitied the position that he was in.

People were beginning to get more heated, and started to close in on him. Poor Christian stumbled back, reaching for his wand, but several bystanders already had theirs out in their hands, and pointed dangerously. Either Christian was going to fall into the fireplace – which had no protective magic in it at the moment – or he would become victim to someone's spell. Either way, I could only foresee him winding up as a pile of ashes before the end of the night.

"Stop this!" I shouted, going forward and standing in front of Christian. I faced him, mostly because I didn't trust him enough to turn my back to him at that moment. "I won't allow anybody to be hurt tonight. There's been enough bloodshed already."

I sounded like some brave martyr out of some cheesy 80's film, and I realized that. However, I still meant what I said – I didn't want a complete brawl over a runaway Death Eater when there were dead schoolchildren in Britain. The quickest thing to do would be to apprehend him and then turn him into the authorities, but yet…

"I'll take care of this," I said as I stepped forward. Ludwig was next to me, and he reached out to grab my arm and stop me.

"No you don't," he said. "That man is dangerous."

"Ludwig." I gave him a look that told him to calmly shut up. He knew that look by now. He didn't question it, even though I could tell that a retort was on the tip of his tongue.

"Christian, come with me," I said bravely, taking a deep breath.

He stepped forward, and the crowd around him stepped back. With a sigh, he lifted his hands. "I will not harm anybody, I promise. My wand is destroyed, and I am weak enough as it is."

He walked to me, and I gently ushered him to follow. "I'll return in a little bit," I called to them behind me. Together, Christian and I left the pub and headed down the street. It was dark, just past eleven at night, and the street was surprisingly still and quiet, with only a few people coming and going from the few establishments still open. Magical Berlin had its own nightlife, of course, but it wasn't here. This stretch of road was mostly shops and pubs.

Christian didn't speak. He merely walked with me, fidgeting every now and then and obviously still rather anxious.

Why did I take it upon myself to take Christian from the pub and walk with him? I didn't even know what to talk to him about. I had never imagined that he would show up in Germany again, especially so soon after defeat. I wasn't exactly prepared with a list. At the moment, I believe, my only desire was to avoid some sort of horrible gang fight.

"Why did you leave?" I finally asked. I suppose that was the question that had plagued me the most. "You had a life here. You had friends, and people who loved you. You were a professional Quidditch player - you lived a life that people only dreamed of. You gave all of that up."

I looked directly at Christian, who was visibly conflicted by this. "I was born in Belfast," he began. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for Christian's inevitable lifestory. "You know what was going in Northern Ireland back then, in the seventies? What is still going on now?"

I nodded slowly. "I've been up to date with The Troubles, as much as I can."

"I wanted a free, unified Ireland," he said passionately. "I still want that. And it wasn't a conflict you could just…ignore if you were magical. It effected everybody. The IRA had their own division of wizards and witches, and the the Ministry of Magic in London had to constantly send over their own men to help clean up the damage and implement their own policies." He spoke of the latter with disgust. "My da was passionate. My grandda even fought in the Irish Civil War! He fought for Belfast, and so I grew up with that. When I went to school at Hogwarts, far away in the Scottish Highlands…nobody knew. Nobody cared. I even had some Irish classmates, and some Irish professors! But all they said were 'focus on your studies', and 'let the experienced wizards deal with it'." He clenched his fists, visibly seething. I wanted to reach a hand out to calm him, but decided it was best not to.

"In the summertime and Christmastime, I would go back to Belfast and join the protests. I did work for the Irish Republican Army, and when I graduated I was anxious to become involved. I dabbled with the IRA a bit more but one day, in a pub…a man approached me while I was reading the paper in London. It was 1976, and the Guildford Four had just been framed for the Guildford Bombings two years prior. I was heated, and he saw that. He told me of a man in Britain who could help, who could bring justice to Northern Ireland and restore order."

"You mean Volde…whoever."

"Voldemort, yes."

What a stupid name. I didn't say that, though. "So you joined him in the name of Ireland."

"I spoke to him directly!" Christian said with an animate gesture. "He said he'd be delighted to work in Ireland! He said that he, too, wanted to 'give Ireland back to the Irish', as we worded it."

I tried to remember if I heard any news about Dark Wizards in Ireland in recent history. I couldn't think of a single thing - but yet, it wasn't something I didn't keep too close on my mind. "Did he?"

Christian slumped his shoulders, a weary face coming over his features. I took the time to notice just how disheveled he looked. His black hair - usually kept so neat and out of the way - was long and shaggy, and his black robes still even had dust on it from the battle. "No. I kept getting excuses, kept being told 'just do what you're told, and it'll come'. And I continued to watch my brothers and sisters in Ireland continuing to suffer. But once you join, you can't just leave. You really can't. He doesn't take well to deserters. He kills them, actually."

He winced. "After his fall in 1981, I tried to go back to Ireland and resume where I had left off, but at that time I was already branded. I couldn't do anything without constantly looking over my shoulder. I was afraid to even join Muggle protests…so I went to Germany, left my bad life behind, and watched their own, successful, revolution."

Christian finally signed and stopped in his tracks, looking at me desperately and reaching out to grab my wrists. I tensed, expecting something violent, but there was only pleading in his eyes. "I swear, when I went to London for the World Cup, I intended to return. I honestly did. But when I was there, I ran into a few of the Death Eaters again, and they told me that Voldemort was returning. I thought…if I returned, because so many others had fled and given up hope, that if I returned he would finally rally around my cause."

"So you did not align with Voldemort's vision at all? Of some…mugggle-free world, or some such nonsense."

Christian pursed his lips and glanced away before shaking his head. "No, not really. I've always been against witches and wizards hiding from Muggles, but always kept them to myself. And right now, in my whole teenage years and into my adult life, Ireland has been my number one priority. I was also afraid, that if I didn't return - if he was successful and ended up coming to Germany - that he would find me, and kill me. The team, too!"

His words angered me, and I pulled away from him. Christian was being a coward, and if there was one thing I hated, it was cowardice. "Don't pull that 'I was just protecting you' bullshit. I hate that excuse. You know damn well if Voldemort for some reason had his eyes set on Germany, he'd be eliminated immediately. After all the shit this country has been through, we don't have any tolerance for 'dark lords' who want to dictate and oppress our people. We wouldn't pussyfoot around and deny, deny, deny like the British did. Someone would take him out, and if he ever stepped off the island of Britain, he'd have to answer to the rest of Europe." I started walking again at an angry pace.

Christian followed behind me still. "Where are we going?" he asked.

I hadn't known up until that point. But now I did. "You'll see. Why did you come back?" I figured he came back because he had lost, and was hoping we'd welcome him back and shelter him with open arms.

He was quiet for several minutes, and I didn't look back to see what his reaction might have been. Finally, he spoke very quietly, and I almost missed it: "I killed someone."

I stopped again at that and looked back at him in shock. There was so much anguish in his face. It surprised me less to hear that he had killed someone, and more that he had, well, killed only 'someone'. I suppose we all naturally assumed that Christian was involved in or on the scene of any destruction and carnage we heard about in the news regarding the Death Eaters. In a morbid way, it shocked me that he only had one body count to his name. "Who?"

"I don't know...it was in the battle. Some ginger kid…God, I feel so awful about it." He glanced away, tearing up. "He was standing guard against a room, and I had set a bomb nearby – I just wanted to take down the room! Not anybody near it! And he was with his brother, or something, I don't know, and he was  _laughing_  at some stupid joke and – I meant to call out to them, I did, I honestly did, but it was too late, it went off and…" Christian took a deep, shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "I never wanted to kill anybody. That entire time, I just disarmed, or stunned, or assisted the others. I never willingly took a life. But I saw this kid die in something I had caused, and that's when everything hit me. I just…needed to go back to some place I knew was safe, and familiar."

As eternally disappointed with Christian as I was - given that he was not only a terrorist but also a murderer now – I could relate, in an odd sense, to his feeling of needing a familiar, friendly place for support. The abandoned warehouse – now a hub for cocaine addicts and midnight hookups – had been my place of refuge and comfort for a long time. Unfortunately for him, my reasons for need had been vastly different from his.

We had arrived where I wanted to take him – around a corner from a popular sweets shop was, on the side of the building, a fireplace. It was a bit of a random fireplace, outside of a building for one thing, but it had a specific purpose – namely, it was one of the more convenient ways in and out of the district with Floo Powder. The fireplace was tall, big enough to fit three grown men, and perpetually lit for easy access in and out.

"Here." I pulled out of my pocket the small bag of Floo Powder I kept with me, and handed it to him. "I really shouldn't. But you have helped me in the past. You accepted me, arguably before anyone else did, and you were one of the first people in a long time that I called my friend. You helped me get into school – mostly by making sure that Ludwig didn't go back on his promise to do so – and, indirectly, if you hadn't had left, I would not have made the team." If I could have had a choice, however, I would have preferred for Christian to stay with us.

He took the Floo Powder with surprise. Grimy, dirt-covered fingers curled around the bag protectively, and he drew it close to his chest. "Floo Powder?"

"This is your chance to start over," I instructed. "I won't turn you in, or tell anybody that I saw you. Go to Belfast. Keep fighting for Ireland – just, in a safe way. Protest, don't retaliate. You know?" I sighed. "Dispose of your robes. Get rid of your Dark Mark tattoo. Just…move on. Please. Don't come back to Germany, not for a long, long time. We can't accept you right now, not when it's this soon."

He took a deep breath and pulled out a small handful of the dust. "Thank you, Gilbert. You are a good person."

"No," I said firmly. "If I were a good person, I'd turn you in, and make you face the consequences of what you've done. I'd let the family of that boy you killed get justice, and closure. But I'm selfish, and admittedly a terrible person. Maybe if you feel enough guilt, you'll turn yourself in. I am giving you that opportunity."

With a few more words, he took the Floo Powder, threw it into the fire, and jumped in, calling the name of a pub in Belfast. As the fire returned to its normal orange and yellow from the magical emerald green, I heard footsteps behind me.

"You've come a long way from the kid I had to stop from assaulting a person for insulting his broomstick." Ludwig's voice cut through the darkness behind me.

I smiled and turned on my heels to face the entire team approaching me. "I would still assault a person for insulting my broomstick," I smirked. "What are you all doing here?"

"As if we'd leave you alone in the hands of a damn criminal," Frederick answered. "We followed you, of course. Wands at the ready."

They stood with me and we all gazed into the fire, contemplating the return (and subsequent departure) of our former teammate. "Do you think we'll see him again?" Kurstin asked.

"For his sake, I hope not," I said with a sigh. How unfortunate. The way he spoke about what he wanted for Ireland…he was so passionate. If only that passion and energy had been channeled to something less destructive.

"Why did you let him go?" Ludwig asked, obviously peeved by this. "We could have used that reward money to buy new broomsticks for the team."

I shrugged, not particularly caring at that moment about such matters. It was in Ludwig's nature as a captain, however, to care. "He helped me out once. I was returning the favour. Maybe he'll learn something from it, and end up doing good. Or maybe he won't, in which case he'll no doubt be arrested and tried for his crimes. He felt way too much guilt to be sneaky and manipulative."

Ludwig sighed and took my hand. "You're maddening sometimes. I don't get you."

"And I don't get you either," I grinned. I supposed that's what made us, simply, get each other.

"We're turning in for the night," Frederick said, linking his arm with his brother's and starting to tug the man away. "I'm bushed."

That seemed like the end of our eventful night out. Everyone started to disperse, and I took one more look at the fireplace.

I helped Christian because he reminded me of myself many years ago – passionate, determined, and reckless. We were both born during times of turbulence and revolution. Perhaps the only difference between him and I were our birth places – if I were like him; voiceless, angry, and determined to make a difference – and somebody approached me with the promise of power, liberation, and assistance towards my cause…who's to say I would have enough foresight to recognize a threat and decline? I was desperate at times. Hungry, scared, alone, and with absolutely nothing to lose. I may very well have been susceptible to the invitation of a powerful wizard making empty promises.

But I could not dwell on this. As I turned and walked away, hand-in-hand with Ludwig, I closed that chapter of my life. A chapter of dark wizards, Death Eaters, and the betrayal of family. A new chapter in the life of Christian had just begun, starting at a pub in Belfast. Perhaps he returned to Berlin truly seeking comfort and shelter, or perhaps he returned in order to attain closure. I could not say for certain either way, but I truly hoped that he would move forward, and that we would never see him again.

_End of Account_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I wrote this chapter not intending to write about international wizarding politics around the turn of the century but I ENDED UP DOING THAT A LOT, and for that I apologize. Nobody hate me for Christian's confession!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it! My next fic will be another AU, set in the "Fate" universe. It'll be Germancest, but also have some USUK and some PruHun in it as well! So take a look for that. It'll be a lot darker, with lots of magic, angst, and action. To those who don't want to read it - Again, thank you for making it this far with me. You all are wonderful!


End file.
